Hamilton: The Musical
by TheFederalist
Summary: The story of Hamilton the musical. Note: this story uses the actual historical appearances of the characters, not the actors.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: Thanks for clicking on this story! I hope you enjoy my (somewhat trash) version of _Hamilton_.

Sadly, I do not own any of the characters, or the musical itself. *cries* I wish I could own Alexander, though.

Also, the cover image for this fic is not owned by me. It was drawn by Allison Coon - she has a YouTube channel that makes Hamilton animatics. Check it out!

**This story is protected by U.S. copyright law.**

**Chapter 1: Alexander Hamilton**

_How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Caribbean by providence, impoverished in squalor, grow up to be a hero and a scholar?_

That is the question I ask myself every single day.

The ten-dollar founding father without a father got a lot farther by working a lot harder, by being a lot smarter, by being a self-starter. By fourteen, they placed him in charge of a trading charter. And every day while slaves were being slaughtered and carted away across the waves, he struggled and kept his guard up. Inside, he was longing for something to be a part of; he was ready to beg, steal, borrow, or barter.

Then a hurricane came, and devastation reigned. He saw his future drip, dripping down the drain. But he put a pencil to his temple, and connected it to his brain. He wrote his first refrain, a testament to his pain.

I remember him vividly. I remember him standing on the bow of a ship, headed for a new land. His reddish-brown hair flying behind him in the wind, a book tucked under his arm, his violet eyes shining with curiosity and barely-concealed fear.

I remember as his ship came to rest in the docks of the New York City harbor, and one of the soldier boys scrambled to help him. As they anchored the ship together to the dock, I heard a snippet of their conversation which caught my attention:

"You must be exhausted, sir. All the way from the Caribbean? What's your name?"

"Alexander Hamilton. My name is Alexander Hamilton."

_Hamilton_. That name would come to haunt me for the rest of my life.

"And there's a million things I haven't done. But just you wait…just you wait…"

The rest of his sentence became muffled by the sounds of the grunts and shouts of the working men in the harbor, and I turned away, thinking nothing of it. In my eyes, this man was just another insignificant immigrant from the bottom. He was unimportant; it wasn't as if I would ever see him again.

I was a fool. Little did I know that, in a few years' time, I would hate him more than anything else in the world. In a few years' time, I would stand in front of him in a fatal showdown, pointing the barrel of a pistol at his chest.

In a few years' time, I would be the one to shoot the bullet that snuffed out his life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Aaron Burr, Sir/My Shot**

It was 1776. I was walking down the streets of New York City when someone tapped my arm.

I whirled around. Staring at me was a scrappy-looking young man. He had a youthful face and pleasant features, and stunning violet eyes that shone with an unusual intensity. His auburn hair was tied back loosely with a ribbon. He seemed to be only about nineteen or twenty years old.

He looked familiar…

He tapped my arm again. "Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr, sir?" he asked.

His openness disarmed me. I swallowed and quickly regained my composure before saying carefully, "That depends. Who's asking?"

He grinned at me sheepishly. "Oh, well, sure, sir. I'm Alexander Hamilton…"

Right away I mentally slapped myself. Of course! Alexander Hamilton! The immigrant I'd seen at the harbor!

"…I'm at your service, sir, I have been looking for you…"

I tilted my head. _Looking for me? _"I'm getting nervous."

Alexander's hands began to fidget, but his eyes did not lose their vigor as he explained, "Sir, I heard your name at Princeton. I was seeking an accelerated course of study when I got sort of out of sorts with a buddy of yours. I may have punched him. It's a blur, sir. He handles the financials?"

I stopped him right there. "You punched the bursar?"

"Yes."

I stared at him incredulously. He continued talking, oblivious to this.

"I wanted to do what you did. Graduate in two, then join the revolution." He nodded importantly. "He looked at me like I was stupid – I'm not stupid. So how'd you do it? How'd you graduate so fast?"

I licked my lips. "It was my parents' dying wish before they passed," I lied.

At this, Alexander's already bright eyes lit up.

"You're an orphan!" he exclaimed. "Of course! I'm an orphan. God, I wish there was a war! Then we could prove that we're worth more than anyone bargained for!"

He fascinated me. I didn't like it, but he fascinated me. "Can I buy you a drink?" I offered.

"That would be nice."

I draped my arm across his shoulders as I made my way toward the bar, steering him in the right direction as we walked. "While we're talking, let me offer you some free advice."

He looked at me, eager to hear what I had to say.

"Talk less."

His brows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

I could have laughed at his reaction. "Smile more. Don't let them know what you're against or what you're for."

"You can't be serious."

I looked directly into his eyes, every bit as serious as I wanted him to take me. "You wanna get ahead?"

"Yes."

"Fools who run their mouths off wind up dead."

We entered the bar. After ordering our drinks, we found an empty table and sat down. Alexander opened his mouth to say something when the door slammed open and three men I knew all too well barged in.

"Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, what time is it?"

"SHOWTIME!"

"Showtime, showtime!"

My heart sank. It was Laurens, Mulligan, and Lafayette. "Like I said…" I sighed. I turned to look at them distastefully, and so did Alexander. A grin spread across Laurens' face as he saw us, and he strode over to us, followed by his two colleagues.

"Showtime, showtime, yo! I'm John Laurens in the place to be! Two pints o' Sam Adams, but I'm workin' on three! Those Redcoats don't want it with me, 'cause I will pop chicka-pop these cops till I'm free!"

I shook my head, disgusted at his self-centered little banter. I barely had time to protest before Lafayette took the limelight.

"_Oui, oui, mon ami, je m'appelle _Lafayette! The Lancelot of the revolutionary set! I came from afar just to say "_Bonsoir_"! Tell the King "_Casse toi_"! Who's the best? _C'est moi_!"

I took a swig of my beer and turned away. This was disgraceful. _Foolish boys, they are going to get themselves killed_. I looked at Alexander. Instead of looking repulsed, as I had expected, he actually seemed _interested _in these petty revolutionaries' propaganda. His eyes radiated awe and wonder, and his features were set in a look of excited determination. This quickly caused bile to rise in my throat, so I looked away and took another drink.

Meanwhile, the revolutionaries were still going at it:

"I am Hercules Mulligan, up in it, lovin' it, yes I heard your mother say 'Come again!' Lock up your daughters and horses, of course, it's hard to have intercourse over four sets of corsets…"

I gagged at this crude remark and nearly spit out my beer.

Laurens laughed. "No more sex, pour me another brew, son! Let's raise a couple more –"

They all clinked their glasses. "– To the revolution!"

I groaned. They glanced at me.

"Well, if it ain't the prodigy of Princeton college!" said Laurens, finally acknowledging my presence.

"Aaron Burr!" Mulligan chimed in, nodding knowingly. "Give us a verse, drop some knowledge!"

I rolled my eyes. "Good luck with that, you're taking a stand," I said. "You spit, I'mma sit, we'll see where we land!"

Laurens looked at me incredulously. "Burr, the revolution's imminent! What do you stall for?"

At this, Alexander said, the first time he'd spoken in this little argument: "If you stand for nothing, Burr, what'll you fall for?"

I glared at him. The revolutionaries began to whisper amongst each other excitedly.

"Oooh, who you, who you, who are you? Oooh, who's this kid, what's he gonna do?"

A look of fright briefly passed over Alexander's face as everyone in the bar turned to look at him, but he soon regained his composure and stood up. Wearing a triumphant smile, he looked around and broke into a song of his own:

"I am not throwing away my shot!

I am not throwing away my shot!

Hey yo, I'm just like my country, I'm young, scrappy and hungry, and I'm not throwing away my shot!"

Laurens and Mulligan raised their brows and whispered something to Lafayette, who nodded. Alexander, eager to impress them, leapt up on top of a table and began to spit out a series of rhymes that only a well-learned poet could master.

"I'mma get a scholarship to King's College!

I probably shouldn't brag, but dag, I amaze and astonish,

The problem is I got a lot of brains but no polish

I gotta holler just to be heard, with every word, I drop knowledge!

I'm a diamond in the rough, a shiny piece of coal

Tryna reach my goal, my power of speech: unimpeachable

Only nineteen, but my mind is older

These New York City streets get colder, I shoulder

Every burden, every disadvantage, I have learned to manage,

I don't have a gun to brandish, I walk these streets famished!

The plan is to fan this spark into a flame

But damn, it's getting dark, so let me spell out the name!

I am the A-L-E-X-A-N-D

E-R, we are, meant to be

A colony that runs independently!

Meanwhile, Britain keeps shittin' on us endlessly

Essentially, they tax us relentlessly

Then King George turns around, runs a spending spree

He ain't ever gonna set his descendants free,

So there will be a revolution in this century!"

I marveled at his enthusiasm and his talent. This man, this _boy_, was not even from here, and yet…he loved America as if it were his own. He was not afraid to stand up for what was right, even if it killed him. That prospect caused goosebumps to rise up my arms, followed by an inexpressible feeling of jealousy. I would never be able to do what he could do; I couldn't take a side. I was not selfless. I was not noble. I was not heroic.

I was just Aaron Burr.

In that moment, I hated Alexander Hamilton and everything he stood for.

I promptly stood up from my seat and marched over to the bartender, determined to tune out the chants of the revolution from my mind. I ordered another beer and drank until I was satisfied.

"I dream of life without a monarchy!

The unrest in France will lead to anarchy!

When I fight, I make the other side panicky with my _shot_!"

"Yo, I'm a tailor's apprentice,

And I got y'all knuckleheads in _loco parentis_,

I'm joining the rebellion 'cause I know it's my chance to socially advance instead of sewing some pants!

I'm gonna take a _shot_!"

"But we'll never be truly free

Until those in bondage have the same rights as you and me!

You and I, do or die,

Wait till I sally in on a stallion with the first black battalion!

Have another _shot_!"

I had had enough. I strode over to the revolutionaries, my hands on my hips, scowling.

"Geniuses, lower your voices!" I said reprovingly. "You keep out of trouble and you double your choices. I'm with you, but the situation is fraught; you've got to be carefully taught, if you talk, you're gonna get shot!"

Alexander turned to me, his expression brimming with self-confidence. "Burr, check what we got," he said, beaming. He gestured around the table to his new friends. "Mister Lafayette, hard-rock like Lancelot. I think your pants look hot. Laurens, I like you a lot! Let's hatch a plot blacker than the kettle callin' the pot! What are the odds the gods would put us all in one spot? Poppin' a squat on conventional wisdom, like it or not. A bunch of revolutionary manumission abolitionists? _Give me a position, show me where the ammunition is_!"

At the look on everyone's faces he suddenly quieted down.

"Oh, am I talking too loud?" he whispered. "Sometimes I get over-excited, shoot off at the mouth. I never had a group of friends before – I promise that I'll make y'all proud!"

Laurens grinned. "Let's get this guy in front of a crowd!"

This was pointless. Sighing, and not wanting to be seen associating myself with these mediocrities, I turned on my heel and exited the bar.

The words of their anthem followed me.

_I am not throwing away my shot_

_I am not throwing away my shot!_

_Hey yo, I'm just like my country, I'm young, scrappy and hungry_

_And I'm not throwing away my shot!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: The Story of Tonight**

Alexander, Laurens, Mulligan, and Lafayette were all bunched together in a circle, raising their glasses. They had paid no heed to Burr's departure; they were currently preoccupied with their fantasies of the revolution and freedom and a new nation. Alexander was particularly joyful; he had never had people he could relate to before, and he could finally be a part of something momentous. For indeed, the revolution would prove to be pivotal in the years to come, twisting and turning the tide of America's fate to something unlike anyone had ever seen before.

"I may not live to see our glory," said Alexander.

"I may not live to see our glory," the others repeated after him.

"But I will gladly join the fight."

"But I will gladly join the fight."

"And when our children tell our story…"

"When our children tell our story!"

"…They'll tell the story of tonight."

"Let's have another round tonight," said Mulligan. He refilled his glass.

"Let's have another round tonight," Lafayette agreed. He, too, refilled his glass.

Laurens beamed. "Raise a glass to freedom," he chanted, "something they can never take away. No matter what they tell you."

He rose from his seat and clinked his glass with his comrades'. "Raise a glass to the four of us! Tomorrow there'll be more of us…"

"…Telling the story of tonight…"

"…They'll tell the story of tonight…"

The young men's voices rose in a spell-binding duet, and the air was filled with sweet song.

"Raise a glass to freedom! Something they can never take away! No matter what they tell you!"

"Let's have another round tonight."

"Let's have another round tonight!"

They shared one final toast and drank contentedly, brimful with confidence in their destiny.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: The Schuyler Sisters/Farmer Refuted**

There's nothing rich folks love more than going downtown and slumming it with the poor. They pull up in their carriages and gawk at the students in the common just to watch them talk. Take Philip Schuyler – the man is loaded, but little does he know that his daughters, Peggy, Angelica, and Eliza sneak into the city just to watch all the guys at work!

I see them now. Three beautiful women, each in their own elegant gowns, soaking in the sights of the city with an air of nervous excitement. Angelica was looking particularly eye-catching; her rose-gold dress was so bright that it blinded any man daring enough to look, and her chocolate-brown hair cascaded in smooth waves down her back and shoulders. Behind her, Peggy and Eliza were less stunning; the garments they wore were not as elaborately decorated, and they seemed to be slightly more reserved than their ringleader. They clung to each other's forearms with bated breath, their eyes darting around the square uncertainly.

"Daddy said to be home by sundown," Peggy murmured to Angelica.

Angelica rolled her eyes. "Daddy doesn't need to know," she said.

"Daddy said not to go downtown."

"Like I said, you're free to go. Look around, look around! The revolution's happening in New York!"

Eliza spoke up. "Angelica, remind me what we're looking for," she said.

Angelica smirked. "Eliza, I'm looking for a mind at work!"

This was my chance. Clearing my throat, I walked toward the women and gave a curt bow. Eliza and Peggy looked startled, but Angelica stood staring disdainfully down at me. She knew what I was trying to do.

I straightened hastily. "Phew! There's nothin' like summer in the city!" I said, trying to make my voice as attractive as possible. "Someone in a rush next to someone lookin' pretty! Excuse me, miss, I know it's not funny, but your perfume smells like your daddy's got money. Why you slummin' in the city in your fancy heels? You searchin' for an urchin who can give you ideals?"

Angelica wasn't having it. "Burr, you disgust me."

I grinned. "Ah, so you've discussed me. I'm a trust fund, baby, you can trust me!"

She eyed me warily. "I've been reading _Common Sense _by Thomas Paine. So men say that I'm intense or I'm insane. You want a revolution? I want a revelation! So listen to my declaration!"

And with that, she recited, "_We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal!_"

I stared at her, alarmed.

"And when I meet Thomas Jefferson, I'mma compel him to include women in the sequel!"

And then, with a flick of her wrist, she marched off daintily, leaving me with nothing to do but gape.

Eliza and Peggy scurried after her.

I shut my mouth quickly. Grumbling under my breath, I turned around and bumped smack into Alexander, who had been standing right behind me, grinning.

"What are you smirking at?" I hissed.

His violet eyes twinkled. "Look around, look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now," he said simply.

Before I could hit him right then and there, there was the sound of loud throat-clearing, and we both turned our heads. A thin, haughty-looking man was standing on top of a stepstool, holding a lengthy piece of parchment between his stubby fingers.

Alexander sighed. "This should be fun," he said sarcastically.

I remained silent.

"Hear ye, hear ye!" the thin man cried out, gesturing wildly to the citizens. He looked pathetic. "My name is Samuel Seabury, and I present "Free Thoughts on the Proceedings of the Continental Congress!""

At this, Alexander let out a loud groan. Seabury glared at him and began to read from the parchment.

"Heed not the rabble who scream revolution! They have not your interests at heart!"

Someone shouted, "Oh my God, tear this dude apart!" Seabury paid him no heed and continued on, unfazed.

"Chaos and bloodshed are not a solution! Don't let them lead you astray! This Congress does not speak for me…"

Alexander's eyes sparked with anger, and he launched himself at Seabury. I jumped in front of him before he could get his hands on him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Let him be," I said. Alexander bristled but said nothing.

"…They're playing a dangerous game! I pray the king shows you his mercy! For shame! For shame!"

Alexander tore free from my grasp and leapt in front of Seabury. He stood at a full head taller than the latter, and as a result, he completely blocked him from the audience's view.

"He'd have you all unravel at the sound of screams!" he shouted. At the same time, Seabury cried, "Heed not the rabble who scream revolution!"

"But the revolution is coming –"

"They have not your interests at heart!"

"It's hard to listen to you with a straight face –"

"Chaos and bloodshed –"

"– already haunt us, honestly you shouldn't even talk –"

"This Congress does not speak for me –"

"_My dog speaks more eloquently_!"

"They're playing a dangerous game –"

"But strangely, your mange is the same!"

"I pray the king shows you his mercy –"

"Is he in Jersey?"

"For shame!"

"For the Revolution!"

"_For shame_!"

"ENOUGH!" I finally shouted, exasperated. I couldn't _stand _these two _grown men _talking over one another like children. I turned to Alexander. "Alexander, please!"

He looked back at me unflinchingly. "Burr, I'd rather be divisive than indecisive! Drop the niceties!"

I cursed under my breath. I was about to reply when suddenly, out of the corner of my vision, I spotted two Redcoats making their way through the crowd of citizens. Gesturing to Alexander, I told him to get down.

He understood and moved away from Seabury to stand beside me. The Redcoats came to a stop in precisely the same spot where he had just been, and I swallowed back the lump of fear – no, not fear – _apprehension _– that had taken residence in my throat as they boomed out,

"SILENCE! A MESSAGE FROM THE KING! A MESSAGE FROM THE KING! _A MESSAGE FROM THE KING_!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: You'll Be Back**

The Redcoats unfurled a piece of parchment not unlike Seabury's from their belts and began to read.

"_You say,_

_The price of my love's not a price that you're willing to pay._

_You cry_

_In your tea which you hurl in the sea when you see me go by._

_Why so sad?_

_Remember we made an arrangement when you went away_

_Now you're making me mad._

_Remember, despite our estrangement,_

_I'm your man._"

I glanced at Alexander. His expression mirrored my own disgust. I would have laughed had the topic of discussion not been so serious.

"_You'll be back,_

_Soon you'll see,_

_You'll remember you belong to me._

_You'll be back._

_Time will tell._

_You'll remember that I served you well._

_Oceans rise. Empires fall,_

_We have seen each other through it all!_

_And when push comes to shove,_

_I will send a fully armed battalion to remind you of my love!_"

Alexander snorted, and I elbowed him sharply to silence him. One of the Redcoats glared daggers at us, but they did not stop reading the King's message.

"_You say our love is draining and you can't go on!_

You'll _be the one complaining when I am gone…_

_And no, don't change the subject!_

_Because you're my favorite subject!_

_My sweet, submissive subject._

_My loyal, royal subject!_

_Forever, and ever, and ever and ever and ever…_"

A knot twisted in my stomach, and I suppressed it viciously. It was true, I was indifferent to the upcoming Revolution, but King George was clearly a disturbed man, and I couldn't bear the thought of being referred to as his _subject_.

"_You'll be back,_

_Like before,_

_I will fight the fight and win the war,_

_For your love_

_For your praise,_

_And I'll love you till my dying days!_

_When you're gone,_

_I'll go mad._

_So don't throw away this thing we had._

_Because when push comes to shove,_

_I will kill your friends and family to remind you of my love._"

My eyes widened in alarm. _Well, the sociopath has spoken_. Alexander's brows, like mine, were knitted in horror, his jaw hanging open slightly. He quickly closed it and assumed his usual defiant stance, his feet planted firmly on the ground, his eyes flaring. However unnerving the King's message may have been, it had only served to strengthen his belief in the Revolution.

Once again I found myself overcome with jealousy. Alexander was popular; he had friends that supported him; he had something to believe in. He had a _purpose_ – and he had started out as a lowly immigrant orphan from the dump. How does someone like that rise up through the ranks so quickly? How does someone like that get more publicity, and more _recognition_, than me, one of the most brilliant graduates of Princeton college?

My hands balled into fists of their own accord. Rage flooded my senses, blinding me, and for a horrifying second I caught a glimpse of the future, of me dueling Alexander Hamilton, aiming a pistol directly at his heart, ending my opponent once and for all…

_My opponent…_ Since when did he become my opponent? Since the moment I had first met him, I supposed. When he had first stepped foot on my conscience, I knew he was different. He stood out from the rest, with his keen mind, his grand dreams of the future, his natural ambition, his eagerness to become the change that he wanted to see in the world.

_I wanted to do what you did. Graduate in two, then join the revolution._

When he had said that, he had looked at me with his eyes full of respect and…admiration. Admiration! No one had ever looked at me with admiration before. Although no one in New York City viewed me with much seriousness because of my inability to make a decision, Alexander had looked at me as if I counted. As if I actually _meant _something.

_So how'd you do it? How'd you graduate so fast?_

I smiled. He wanted to know how I'd done it. That realization swept all traces of anger from me, leaving me feeling strangely content. He looked up to me. I was a mentor to him, a source of guidance.

A _role model_.

_It was my parents' dying wish before they passed._

For the first time in my life, I felt guilty for the lie. I had only graduated from Princeton because of my father's role in founding the college. Part of it also had to do with my failed application at eleven years old. When I wasn't allowed in, I studied along with the Princeton curriculum at home for two years. I then got placed in a sophomore class at thirteen, and graduated at sixteen.

But still. It was pleasant to know that someone out there recognized me for my achievements.

With that thought I left the square with a sense that I had never experienced before: accomplishment.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Right-Hand Man**

"HERE COMES THE GENERAL."

"Rise up!"

I trembled in anticipation.

"HERE COMES THE GENERAL."

"_Rise up_!"

I forced myself to stand up with the other army men, and saluted.

"HERE COMES THE GENERAL."

"_George Washington_!"

There he was. He was mounted on a pearl-white stallion, clad in the elaborate general's uniform, brandishing a pistol above his head with one hand. With the other he held a riding crop, which he used to rally the soldiers by swinging it between himself and his horse.

"We are outgunned," he shouted, "outmanned! Outnumbered and out-planned! We've gotta make an all-out stand! I'm gonna need a right-hand man!"

_A right-hand man. _I stood up a little straighter in my boots. This was my chance to join the army's staff. If I could become George Washington's assistant, I would earn more than just military fame.

I would earn _glory_.

"Can I be real a second?" Washington said, wheeling around on his horse to face the soldiers. "For just a millisecond? Let down my guard and tell the people how I feel a second?

"Now I'm the model of a modern major general

The venerated Virginian veteran whose men are all lining up

To put me up on a pedestal

Writing letters to relatives embellishing my elegance and eloquence

But! The elephant is in the room

The truth is in your face when you hear the British cannons go _BOOM_!"

At this verse, he flailed his riding crop dramatically in the air, and the soldiers joined him in yelling, "_BOOM_!"

"Any hope of success is fleeting! How can I keep leading when the people I'm leading keep retreating? We put a stop to the bleeding as the British take Brooklyn, knight takes rook, but look:

We are outgunned

Outmanned!

Outnumbered, out-planned!

We gotta make an all-out stand!

Hey, I'm gonna need a right-hand man!"

No one stepped forward. I collected my thoughts and gathered my courage.

Washington threw down his crop in a rare episode of frustration. "_Are these the men with which I am to defend America_?" he demanded in a chilling voice. "We ride at midnight, Manhattan in the distance. I cannot be everywhere at once, people! I'm in dire need of assistance!"

He dismounted his horse. Giving the reins to one of the soldiers, he stormed off toward his tent.

I followed.

"Your Excellency, sir!" I called, once we were both inside.

He turned around. "Who are you?"

I gave a curt bow. "Aaron Burr, sir. Permission to state my case?"

He eyed me for a considerable amount of time. "As you were."

Taking a deep breath, I began my proposal. "Sir, I was a captain under General Montgomery until he caught a bullet in the neck in Quebec, and well, in summary…I think that I could be of some assistance." I added snidely, "I admire how you keep firing on the British…from a distance."

He glared at me. His look suggested that he did not appreciate my jab at him in the slightest. I continued, well-aware that I had probably just jeopardized my chances of getting hired:

"I have some questions, a couple of suggestions, on how to fight instead of fleeing west."

Suddenly the entrance of the tent zipped open, and none other than Alexander Hamilton stepped inside. "Your Excellency! You wanted to see me?"

I groaned inwardly. _Of course. _Why _wouldn't _Alexander want to join the general's staff?

Washington's expression, which had been exasperated, lit up. "Hamilton!" he said. "Come in. Have you met Burr?"

"Yes, sir," said Alexander. He held out his hand for me to shake. "We keep meeting."

I didn't shake his hand. Choosing to ignore him entirely, I turned back to Washington.

"As I was saying, sir, I look forward to seeing your strategy play out –"

Washington interrupted me. "Burr?"

"Sir?"

"Close the door on your way out."

Stunned, I fell silent and strode slowly toward the back of the tent.

I admit I may have tried to eavesdrop on their conversation, but I could hear nothing; their voices were too muffled. Giving up, I went back to my post among the rest of the army men.

My legs were starting to ache from standing for so long when I saw Alexander and Washington emerge from the tent.

The men around me began to chant in that irritatingly repetitive tone: "HERE COMES THE GENERAL."

"Rise up!"

"HERE COMES THE GENERAL."

"Rise up!"

"HERE COMES THE GENERAL."

Washington pointed at Alexander. "And his right-hand man!" he announced.

It took every ounce of willpower I had to refrain from groaning loudly. How _dare _he! How _dare _he hire that immigrant whoreson instead of me! Alexander had nothing! _Nothing_! I clenched my fists until my fingernails dug into my palms, drawing blood. Why?

Why did Alexander Hamilton keep _winning_?


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: A Winter's Ball/Helpless**

_How does the bastard, orphan, son of a whore go on and on, grow into more of a phenomenon? _Watch this obnoxious, arrogant, loudmouth bother be seated at the right hand of the father!

Washington hires Alexander right on sight. But Alexander still wants to fight, not write. Now Alexander's skill with the quill is undeniable, but what do we have in common? We're reliable with the _ladies_.

It was 1780, a winter's ball. Alexander and I were strolling together through the crowd of soldier boys, eyeing the room for three particular women.

_The Schuyler sisters._

"Yo," I murmured to Alexander, "if you can marry a sister, you're rich, son."

He chuckled. "Is it a question of 'if', Burr, or 'which one'?"

I was about to ask him what he meant by that when he bumped my shoulder, approached Angelica (who was in the corner of the room), took her by the arm, and began to dance with her. I could do nothing but watch as he led her in a wide, gentle arc around the room, and as they passed by me he shot me a wink.

I growled deep in my throat. _Tomcat_, I thought. This was unthinkable. This was _wrong_. I had been trying to get with Angelica for over a month, and she wouldn't do so much as glance in my direction. And now Alexander was _dancing _with her?

Unable to dwell on that train of thought any longer, I decided to get a drink.

**ooOoo**

Eliza was standing in the far corner of the ballroom, gazing around at the band playing, the guests dancing, the men wining and dining. She didn't think that anything particularly exciting was going to happen.

"Do you see Angelica anywhere?" she whispered to Peggy. Her sister shook her head.

Eliza considered leaving. She had never really been the type to try and grab the spotlight. Fanning her face, she traipsed over to the bar and was about to pour herself some wine when something caught her attention.

No, not something. Some_one_.

A boy. No, a man. Eliza thought that he was a boy at first because he looked so young, but when he turned his head a certain way she caught a glimpse of his entire face.

It was the most wonderful face she'd ever seen.

He was dashingly handsome, with a fair complexion and a jawline that must have been chiseled by Michelangelo himself. His hair, the color of which was somewhere between red and brown, tumbled in long, slightly disheveled locks around his strong but slender frame, and fell to the length of his shoulders. He was thin but not to the point where it was unattractive, and walked with a slight bounce to his step. He had a nose of fine length, with flaring nostrils, and his lips, perfectly arranged, were set in a lopsided grin.

But most striking were his eyes. Rounded in shape, they were of a deep azure, like the color of the sky on a clear day, with touches of violet around the edges. They radiated passion and a natural elegance, and hadn't a trace of hardness or severity in them. Looking into them gave Eliza the impression that she was drowning.

She nearly dropped her wine glass. He was _gorgeous_.

Apparently, she had been staring at him for far too long, because in her helplessness she hadn't noticed that Angelica had appeared beside her.

"Who is that?" she asked, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

Angelica looked at her quizzically. "Who?"

"That – that _man_." She pointed to the object of her affection, standing just a few feet away.

"Oh." Angelica's features slackened into understanding as she realized who her sister was talking about. "That's Alexander Hamilton. General Washington's new aide-de-camp."

"He's _mine_!" Eliza gushed, latching onto Angelica's arm. "Can you introduce me?"

Angelica looked stunned. Never before had Eliza acted like this. But then she smiled. And then she spoke.

"Of course I'll introduce you."

She left Eliza's side and made her way across the room to Alexander. Eliza's heart skipped a beat as Angelica grabbed Alexander by the arm and whispered something in his ear. The two had a brief conversation, and Eliza was wondering what was taking so long when Alexander looked at her.

They made eye contact.

Eliza's heart exploded.

Alexander began to walk toward her. She turned away from him quickly, and, suddenly feeling very self-conscious, smoothed the ruffles of her dress and twiddled with her hair. When she turned back around again he was directly in front of her.

Once again, she was taken aback by how handsome he was. Breathlessly, and almost without thinking, she introduced herself: "Elizabeth Schuyler. It's a pleasure to meet you."

A look of faint surprise crept into his features. "Schuyler?"

"My sister," said Angelica.

Eliza gathered up the edges of her dress and gave a small curtsy. "Thank you for all your service."

Alexander smiled and took her hand. Kissing it, he said, "If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it."

Eliza felt as if she were about to faint. Angelica's eyes twinkled.

"I'll leave you to it," she said. She walked off, leaving them alone.

Alexander still had not let go of Eliza's hand. Gently, he led her toward the dance floor.

"May I?" he asked.

Eliza beamed. "Yes!" she exclaimed.

**ooOoo**

_I have told you, and I told you truly that I love you too much. You engross my thoughts too entirely to allow me to think of anything else. You not only employ my mind all day; but you intrude upon my sleep. I meet you in every dream – and when I wake I cannot close my eyes again for ruminating on your sweetness. It is a pretty story indeed that I am to be thus monopolized by a little nut brown maid like you and from a soldier metamorphosed into a puny lover. I believe in my soul you are an enchantress; but I have tried in vain, if not to break, at least to weaken the charm and you maintain your empire in spite of all my efforts and after every new one I make to draw myself from my allegiance, my partial heart still returns and clings to you with increased attachment. To drop figures my lovely girl, you become dearer to me every moment. I am more and more unhappy and impatient under the hard necessity that keeps me from you, and yet the prospect lengthens as I advance…_

**ooOoo**

Eliza put down the letter, and once more glanced in the direction of the living room. _Hurry up! _she thought anxiously. Alexander was currently conversing with her father. It had been over an hour, and neither of them had emerged from the room. Eliza considered getting up and marching over there herself, but Angelica, who was beside her, stopped her.

"It won't be that much longer," she said.

Eliza sat back down with a sigh. "I want it to be over with already!" she complained. She had been patient – but she didn't think she could keep it up for the whole day. She was dying inside. This was the moment of truth. This moment would either be her salvation or her damnation. _This moment_ would change the course of her life as she knew it.

Angelica smirked at her antics. "I'm just saying, if you really loved me, you would share him."

Eliza gave a nervous laugh.

Suddenly she heard footsteps, and Alexander emerged from the other room. She leapt up.

"How did it go?" she asked.

He didn't respond. Instead, he walked toward the front door of the house and stepped outside. He beckoned for her to follow.

She stood stock-still, looking at him uncertainly. Angelica pushed her toward him.

"Go on," she said. Eliza, after a brief hesitation, ran to catch up with Alexander.

"Alexander," she said, once she was beside him, "wherever are you going?"

His expression was passive, but she did not miss the mischievous twinkle in his eye as he told her, "You'll see."

They walked along in silence after that until Alexander led her to a little wooden bench surrounded by emerald trees. It was a fairly secluded spot, and though the sun was bright and high in the sky, the bench was shaded from its harmful rays.

"Sit," said Alexander. "Please."

Eliza, bewildered, sat. Alexander sat down beside her.

"Alexander," she asked again, "what's going on?"

He looked at her. Taking a deep breath, he began,

"Eliza, I don't have a dollar to my name,

An acre of land, a troop to command, a dollop of fame

All I have's my honor, a tolerance for pain,

A couple of college credits and my top-notch brain."

He winked at her as he said that, causing her to blush. He continued,

"Insane, your family brings out a different side of me

Peggy confides in me, Angelica tried to take a bite of me…"

At this, Eliza raised her brows, shocked. At the sight of her stricken expression, Alexander hurried on,

"No stress; my love for you is never in doubt

We'll get a little place in Harlem and we'll figure it out

I've been living without a family since I was a child

My father left, my mother died, I grew up buck-wild…"

He stood up then, and looked away from her. She laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled at him comfortingly. She knew it was hard for him, to talk about his past. Even when they had first met, he'd never really been this open with her.

"…but I'll never forget my mother's face, that was real…"

He turned around suddenly, and got down on one knee. Eliza hardly had time to react when he pulled out a sparkling golden ring and declared, his voice hoarse with emotion,

"As long as I'm alive Eliza, I swear to God you'll never feel so helpless!"

Eliza, ecstatic, bounced as high as her little feet would allow her to and squealed. "I already do!" she exclaimed happily. "I do, I do, I do, _I do_!"

Then she burst into joyful sobs. Alexander, unable to maintain his composure any longer, cried as well. Their tears mingled as they laughed and cried together, and as Eliza took out a handkerchief to dab at her eyes, Alexander slipped the ring onto her finger.

She gazed at it in wonder. It was beautiful. It was a gimmel ring, with two separate, twisted circles that linked and fit together to form a single band. Engraved on each circle were the names of the groom and bride to-be: _Alexander _and _Eliza_.

"Oh, Alexander," Eliza murmured. "It's gorgeous." She leaned over to kiss him chastely on the cheek.

And just like that, they were engaged.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Satisfied**

"Do you, Alexander Hamilton, take Elizabeth Schuyler to be your lawfully wedded wife, promising to love and cherish, through joy and sorrow, sickness and health, and whatever challenges you may face, for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do."

"And do you, Elizabeth Schuyler, take Alexander Hamilton to be your partner in life and to share a path of life with; equal in love, embraced as a mirror for your true self, promising to honor and cherish him, through good times and bad, until death do you part?"

"I do."

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, for the first time, Mr. Alexander Hamilton and Mrs. Elizabeth Schuyler-Hamilton. You may now kiss."

Angelica's eyes filled with tears as Alexander and Eliza shared their first kiss as husband and wife. She turned away for fear of bursting into sobs and instead busied herself with smoothing the ruffles of her dress.

At the sound of loud clapping she looked up. Alexander had taken Eliza's hand and was leading her away from the altar. The crowd had burst into applause, and John Laurens stepped up to address them.

"Alright, alright," he cried, grinning from ear to ear, "that's what I'm talking about! Now, everyone, give it up for the maid of honor, Angelica Schuyler!"

The crowd cheered, and Angelica raised her wine glass. Clearing her throat so as not to give any indication that she had been close to crying, she said, "A toast to the groom!"

Everyone repeated after her in unison, "_To the groom!_"

"To the bride!"

"_To the bride!_"

"From your sister…" – Angelica caught Eliza's eye, and the younger woman smiled – "…who's always by your side!

"To your union!

_Union, revolution!_

And the hope that you provide

May you always

Be satisfied!"

All at once a sea of memories flooded Angelica's mind, and she closed her eyes to keep from losing her footing and staggering backwards. While the guests of the wedding dispersed to drink and talk amongst themselves, she was lost in her own world.

_I remember that night, I just might…_

_I remember that night, I just might…_

_I remember that night, I remember that –_

She was back at the winter's ball with her sisters. She didn't know why her mind had taken her here, or what was about to happen. Judging by the simmering feeling in her gut, all she knew was that something either terrible or exhilarating awaited her.

Then she saw him.

He was an ordinary, scrawny young man with a slight build and rather handsome features. Judging by his thinness, he did not have a lot of money, and most likely had spent his childhood in poverty. Angelica thought nothing of him.

Until she saw his eyes.

They were _beautiful_. Intelligent and raw, they shone with an unusual, almost unnatural brightness. Angelica could tell just by looking into them that there was more to this man than what was on the surface.

Suddenly seeming to sense that he was being watched, he turned toward her. She froze as his eyes burned into hers, but did not look away. Intrigued, he walked toward her.

She trembled in her heels as he came so close that they could almost touch. With a confidence that she did not feel, she greeted, "Hey."

He grinned. "Hi."

His voice was rich and smooth, almost as if it were made of velvet, if there was such a thing. Angelica's heart hammered mercilessly in her chest as he held out his hand to her.

"Will you join me?"

Hesitating for only a moment, Angelica obliged, and allowed him to lead her in dance. They swayed in silence for some time, his hand on her waist, until he said, "You strike me as a woman who has never been satisfied."

Startled, she looked at him. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she said. With a slight edge to her tone, she added, "You forget yourself."

He paid no heed to her warning. "You're like me. I'm never satisfied."

She decided to play along. "Is that right?"

"I have never been satisfied."

As his hand left her waist to guide her into a twirl, she decided to introduce herself. "My name is Angelica Schuyler."

"Alexander Hamilton."

_Alexander Hamilton. _That name sounded familiar. Where had she heard it before…oh, yes! It was the name of George Washington's recently appointed right-hand man, wasn't it? "Where's your family from?" she asked.

At this question, she was aware of him shifting uncomfortably behind her. "Unimportant. There's a million things I haven't done. But just you wait. Just you wait…"

They didn't speak again after that. The song they were dancing to came to a close, and soon Alexander left to go get a drink. Angelica was left to the mercy of her own thoughts.

_So this is what it feels like to match wits with someone at your level – what the hell is the catch?_

_It's the feeling of freedom, of seeing the light_

_It's Ben Franklin with a key and a kite!_

_The conversation lasted two minutes, maybe three minutes, everything we said in total agreement_

_It's a dream and it's a bit of a dance_

_A bit of a posture, it's a bit of a stance_

_He's a bit of a flirt, but I'll give it a chance_

_I asked about his family, did you see his answer?_

_His hands started fidgeting, he looked askance_

_He's penniless, he's flying by the seat of his pants…_

She sighed dreamily. _Handsome, boy, does he know it! Peach fuzz, and he can't even grow it! I want to take him far away from this place –_

Her thoughts were interrupted when someone, seemingly appearing from nowhere, latched onto her upper arm. It was Eliza.

"Who is that?" she asked.

Angelica, still lost in thought, barely registered her sister's existence. "Who?" she asked absently.

"That – that _man_." Eliza pointed with a trembling finger at Alexander.

"Oh. That's Alexander Hamilton. General Washington's new aide-de-camp."

"He's _mine_!" Eliza cried. She shook Angelica's arm. "Can you introduce me?"

Angelica stared at her, shocked. Never before had Eliza acted like this…

Wait.

_Oh, no._

Eliza was in love. You could see it in her eyes, you could tell by her smile, by the way she stood. She loved Alexander, but she wouldn't dare pursue him herself. She was asking Angelica to do it for her.

And that's when Angelica realized three fundamental truths at the exact same time.

As the eldest Schuyler sister, it was her job to marry well. In order to provide for her family, she had to be with someone who had both a lot of wealth and an elevated status in society. Alexander, clearly, had neither of those. And for that reason, no matter how hard she tried, they could never be together.

Secondly, Alexander was probably after her because she came from a rich and noble family. Her father was an ex-army general who had lots of inherited land and power. Seeing as he was also serving in the Continental Congress, it would no doubt enable Alexander to emerge at the top of the social class.

Finally, Angelica loved Eliza more than anything the world had to offer. Their bond exceeded what one might call an "ordinary" friendship – they were utterly _devoted _to one another. If Angelica confessed her love for Alexander, Eliza would be devastated. She would not say anything (she was much too kind for that), but she would be in a state of inner turmoil for the rest of her life. Angelica would not and _could not _place that type of pain on her sister.

Which led to her ultimate decision.

She smiled at Eliza. "Of course I'll introduce you," she said.

Eliza beamed, showing off her perfect white teeth. It was worth it, Angelica thought as she made her way over to Alexander, to see that smile on her face. Anything that made her sister smile was worth it.

She took Alexander by the arm and began to lead him back the way she'd come. He looked at her questioningly.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked.

"I'm about to change your life," Angelica replied.

He grinned coyly at her. "Then by all means, lead the way."

They came to a stop in front of Eliza, who, to Angelica's amusement, looked as if her heart was about to leap out of her chest.

"Elizabeth Schuyler," she said, her tone surprisingly collected. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Alexander cocked an eyebrow, probably not expecting to stumble upon a Schuyler sister, let alone two. "Schuyler?"

"My sister," Angelica explained.

She suppressed a pang of jealousy as Alexander took Eliza's hand and kissed it. "If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it."

_If only it had been his lips on _my _hand… _Angelica interrupted that thought before it could become a monologue and instead said, forcing a smile, "I'll leave you to it."

And with that she walked off, leaving them alone.

Looking back on it now, she thought, as she watched Alexander and Eliza talking and laughing with the wedding guests, had she really done the right thing by introducing them to each other? Because it was just as Alexander had said to her when they'd first met:

_You're like me. I'm never satisfied._

She sighed, unable to ignore the truth of that statement.

_He will never be satisfied. _I _will never be satisfied._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: The Story of Tonight (Reprise)/Wait for It**

I groaned at the sound of clinking glasses and drunken singing.

"I may not live to see our glory!"

"_I may not live to see our glory!_"

"But I've seen wonders great and small!"

"_I've seen wonders great and small!_"

"'Cause if the tomcat can get married –"

"_If Alexander can get married –_"

"There's hope for our ass after all!"

"_Raise a glass to freedom!"_

"Something you will never see again!"

"_No matter what she tells you!_"

"Let's have another round tonight!"

"_Let's have another round tonight…_"

I sighed. I supposed that if I was going to say my congratulations, I would have to make it quick.

I stepped into the bar. Sure enough, Laurens, Lafayette, Mulligan, and Alexander were standing around in a circle, singing at the tops of their lungs.

Alexander was the first to notice me. "Well, if it isn't Aaron Burr, sir!" he said. Although his eyes were slightly glazed over, he didn't seem too drunk. "I didn't think that you would make it, to be sure!"

I smiled cordially, and we shook hands. "I came to say congratulations."

"Spit a verse, Burr!" Mulligan crowed.

I looked around. "I see the whole gang is here."

Lafayette rolled his eyes. "You are the worst, Burr!"

I stiffened. Alexander waved off the comment with a dismissive hand. "Ignore them," he told me. "Congrats to you, Lieutenant Colonel. I wish I had your command instead of manning George's journal."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"Now, be sensible – from what I hear you've made yourself indispensable."

He opened his mouth to reply when Laurens suddenly brushed up against me, a fatuous smile plastered across his face.

"Well, well, _I heard _you've got a special someone on the _side_, Burr," he slurred. I backed away from him in disgust. He was _so drunk_.

Alexander looked at me, surprised. "Is that so?" he asked.

"What are you tryin' to _hide_, Burr?"

"I should go," I said, flustered. I began to make my way toward the exit.

Alexander moved in front of me to block my path. "No, these guys should go," he said, indicating his other friends.

Lafayette sulked, looking thoroughly offended. "What? No!"

"Come on, man!" said Laurens.

Alexander gave them an apologetic smile. "Leave us alone."

Giving up, they left the bar until only Alexander and I remained.

"It's alright, Burr," he told me. "I wish you'd brought this girl with you tonight, Burr."

I shrugged. "You're very kind, but I'm afraid it's unlawful, sir."

"What do you mean?"

"She's married."

"I see…"

"She's married to a British officer."

"Oh, shit."

There was an awkward silence. I decided that it was time for me to start heading out.

"Congrats again, Alexander," I said. "Smile more. I'll see you on the other side of the war."

He stared after me, shaking his head. "I will never understand you. If you love this woman, go get her! What are you waiting for?"

I chose not to answer that question. "I'll see you on the other side of the war."

He sighed. "I'll see you on the other side of the war," he echoed. Seeing as there was nothing left for him to do, and that he was never going to get a clear answer out of me, he left the bar and went to catch up with his friends.

Now that I was alone, I was free to pause and reflect.

_I will never understand you. If you love this woman, go get her. What are you waiting for?_

But _why _didn't he understand? Theodosia was married (to a British officer, no less!). Of course, that didn't stop me from exchanging letters with her daily, but still! It would be scandalous for me to just barge into her house one day and profess my love for her. I had to wait for something to happen to her husband before I could start to court her.

I had to _wait for something to happen_…I supposed that was the one difference between me and Alexander. I was willing to wait for an opportunity to present itself, while Alexander was not. He never hesitated when he saw an opening, a chance to make a difference. He leapt upon it like a lion upon its prey. In my eyes, this was not the wisest course of action, for exposing one's legacy in such a way meant endangering one's life.

But then _why was he so successful_? Time and time again, I found myself asking that question. How was it that, when so many people died in the world, he always came out on top? _How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore…_

And then it hit me. Alexander Hamilton excelled in life because of his humble origins. Society looked down upon him, and he used that to push himself up. He could take as many risks as he desired, because he had nothing to lose. And I…

For the first time in my life, I wanted to change my ways. I wanted to _be _Alexander. I wanted to have as much courage as he did, as much ambition, as much drive. I wanted to _make things happen_, instead of letting them happen to me. I wanted the world to remember me as he would be remembered. I wanted to…

I shook my head. _No. _I could not want this. I could never come close to being like Alexander – that was just not who I was. For now I was content with just watching from a distance.

Watching.

And waiting.

_Don't worry, _I told myself. _Your time will come soon enough._


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Stay Alive**

Alexander was nearly passed out at his desk, his quill falling out of his hand, ink staining the left side of his face which he rested heavily on the cold, hard wood. Another letter from Congress arrived, telling them to attack the British forces. He read over it once, retrieved a fresh piece of parchment, and promptly wrote, _We have resorted to eating our horses._

The entrance of the tent zipped open, and Washington stepped inside. With much effort, Alexander raised his head.

"The cavalry's not coming," Washington said gravely.

"But sir –"

"Alex, listen." Washington pulled up a chair to sit across from him. "There's only one way for us to win this. Provoke outrage, outright."

Alexander nodded. "That's right."

"Don't engage, strike by night. Remain relentless until their troops take flight."

Alexander could see where Washington was going with this. "Make it impossible to justify the cost of the fight."

"Outrun."

"_Outrun."_

"Outlast."

"_Outlast."_

"Hit 'em quick, get out fast. Stay alive until this horror show is past. We're going to fly a lot of flags half-mast."

Washington stood up to leave, but Alexander stopped him. "Sir, wait."

The general looked at him.

"Entrust me with a command."

Washington sighed. "No."

"But –"

"Charles Lee has already been promoted to the position you so desire. Do not ask me again."

He left the tent, leaving Alexander to stare after him in shock.

His fists clenched in frustration. _Charles Lee _had been promoted, instead of _him_? The man was hardly adequate for the job. Alexander had openly expressed his distrust of Lee on several occasions. And now he was a _general_?

Washington had given Lee a command just to spite him, he was sure.

Seething, he went back to writing his correspondence.

**ooOoo**

Lee's incompetence was proven a few months later, at the Battle of Monmouth. On orders from Washington, the exhausted American soldiers were led in an attack against the well-equipped, more powerful British forces. Lee was in charge of the advance force. The plan was to split up the troops and harass the British from the left and right.

Lee had retreated less than thirty minutes into the battle. Alexander's horse was shot out from under him, and by the time Washington arrived on the scene everything was in total chaos.

"_What are you doing, Lee_?" Washington cried, galloping up to Lee on his signature white stallion. "_Get back on your feet_!"

Alexander had never seen the man so angry. Lee, being the blubbering idiot that he was, stammered out, "But there are so many of them!"

Washington muttered something along the lines of "you damned poltroon" and grated out sarcastically, "I'm sorry, is this not your speed?!" He turned toward Alexander. "Hamilton!"

Alexander snapped to attention. "Ready, sir!"

"Have Lafayette take the lead!"

Alexander's heart sank. While he was happy that his friend had been promoted, he had thought that _he _would be the one to come in second-in-command after Lee. With a disgruntled "Yes, sir", he trudged off to inform Lafayette of the news.

In the end, the battle was a stalemate. The casualties on the American side amounted to one thousand total, including the wounded and missing. The British managed to escape mostly intact, and Charles Lee, to Alexander's relish, was suspended from the army for insubordination.

Although Alexander himself had never received a command during any of this, the knowledge that Lee was punished for his behavior brought him some comfort. His happiness was short-lived, however. As he walked through the weary, battered ranks of the army with Laurens (they had been assigned by Washington to collect the spoils of war), he caught sight of a small crowd of soldiers forming around Lee. Lee was saying something unintelligible, and he moved closer to hear:

"…Washington cannot be left alone to his devices! He's indecisive, from crisis to crisis! _The best thing he can do for the revolution is turn and go back to plantin' tobacco in Mount Vernon_!"

Alexander recoiled in shock. Nobody _dared _to slander George Washington if they wanted to live another day. He started to march toward Lee when someone grasped him from behind.

It was Washington. His gray eyes were stern, like a father reprimanding his son for wrongdoing. "Don't do a thing," he said. "History will prove him wrong."

"But, sir!" Alexander protested.

"We have a war to fight. Let's move along."

When Washington had gone, Laurens bristled. "Strong words from Lee," he said, "someone oughtta hold him to it."

Alexander sighed. "I can't disobey direct orders."

"Then _I'll _do it."

_Oh, no. _Laurens was going to duel Lee. "Laurens, are you sure that's wise…?"

Laurens clapped Alexander on the back. "Alexander, you're the closest friend I've got," he said. "Will you be my second?"

Alexander mulled it over. If he got caught dueling, Washington would have his head. He may be suspended from the army, or worse. On the other hand, he needed to go to make sure Laurens didn't get hurt.

"Fine," he said. "But don't throw away your shot."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Ten Duel Commandments/Meet Me Inside**

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine…_

I watched as Laurens and Alexander made their way towards us, pistols in hand.

_It's the Ten Duel Commandments._

_Number one._

I turned to Lee. "Are you going to apologize for what you said about Washington?" I asked him.

He shook his head.

_Number two._

I walked toward Alexander, meeting him halfway across the dueling grounds. We exchanged pistols.

_Number three._

Alexander took up his position beside Laurens. I stood next to Lee.

_Number four._

I handed Lee my pistol while Laurens summoned for a doctor.

_Five._

The doctor turned around so he could have deniability. I looked toward the sky.

_Number six._

The sun had not yet risen. Good.

_Seven._

Alexander whispered something to Laurens, nodded, and began to walk toward me. We met at the center of the grounds.

_Number eight. Your last chance to negotiate._

"Alexander," I greeted.

"Aaron Burr, sir."

"Can we agree that duels are dumb and immature?"

"Sure. But your man has to answer for his words, Burr."

"With his life? We both know that's absurd, sir."

"Hang on, how many men died because Lee was inexperienced and ruinous?"

I sighed. It was a pointless argument. "Okay, so we're doing this."

_Number nine._

Laurens and Lee squared their shoulders, stood opposite each other, and aimed their pistols.

_Look them in the eye, aim no higher…summon all the courage you require…then count!_

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine…_

_Number ten, paces, fire!_

Both men fired their pistols. Lee's bullet missed Laurens by just an inch, but Lee himself wasn't so lucky. He was shot in the side. I yelled for the doctor while Alexander collected the pistols.

"Lee, do you yield?" he called.

_The nerve! _I thought. _The _nerve _he has, to speak to the man he just shot! _"You shot him in the side!" I said. "Yes, he yields!"

Laurens grinned triumphantly. "I'm satisfied!"

I helped Lee to stand. He was still conscious, but his eyes kept slipping in and out of focus, and blood poured in a steady stream from the wound in his side, forming a crimson pool on the ground around him. And as if that weren't enough, I suddenly spotted the silhouette of George Washington in the distance.

"Yo, we gotta clear the field!" I said to Alexander. "Washington's coming!"

Alexander's eyes widened, and he turned to run, but he wasn't fast enough; Washington had already seen us.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" he demanded, once he had examined the situation. I shuddered. This was a man who you didn't want to mess with. "Mr. Burr! Get a medic for the general!"

"Yes, sir!" Grateful that he hadn't given me a worse reproach, I rushed off to perform this task.

Washington then turned to Lee, and his tone changed from thunderous to mild as he said, "Lee, you will never agree with me, but believe me, these young men don't speak for me!" Then he saluted. "Thank you for your service."

Lee nodded, too stunned to speak. I took his arm and slung it across my shoulder, and together we made our way to the doctor's tent.

"HAMILTON!"

I froze as I heard Washington call Alexander's name.

"Yes, sir?"

"MEET ME INSIDE."

_Oh, Alexander, you are in trouble now._

**ooOoo**

Alexander followed Washington inside. He was angry, and though he would never admit it, scared too. He didn't know what Washington was going to do to him, and he didn't want to find out.

"Son –" Washington began.

Alexander stopped him right there. "Don't call me son."

Washington sighed. "This war is hard enough without infighting."

"Lee called you out," said Alexander. "We called his bluff."

"You solve nothing, you aggravate our allies to the south!"

"You're absolutely right. John should've shot him in the mouth, that would've shut him up."

"Son –"

"I'm not your son."

"_Watch your tone. _I am not a maiden in need of defending, I am grown!"

"Charles Lee, Thomas Conway, these men take your name and they rake it through the mud."

"My name's been through a lot, I can take it."

"Well, I don't have your name! I don't have your titles! I don't have your land! But if you –"

"_No _–"

"– if you gave me command of a battalion, a group of men to lead, I could fly above my station after the war –"

"Or you could die, and we need you alive!"

"I'm more than willing to die –"

"Your wife needs you alive, son, _I need you alive_!"

Alexander exploded. "_CALL ME SON ONE MORE TIME!_"

Washington stared at him. He shut his mouth quickly, but it was too late. The damage was done.

"Go home, Alexander," Washington said. His voice was dangerously low. "That's an order from your commander."

"Sir…"

"_Go home_."

Alexander didn't dare to argue after that. Bowing his head, he exited the tent.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: That Would Be Enough**

It was midnight. Alexander crept inside the house quietly so as not to disturb his wife, but his efforts were in vain, for he soon found Eliza seated in the living room, her chin resting in her hands.

She looked up when she heard his footsteps, and a wide smile broke out across her features. "Alexander!" she exclaimed, rushing over to him. She wrapped her arms around him in an embrace, and, pulling him close, pressed a brief but passionate kiss to his lips.

He chuckled in amusement and returned the gesture with warmth. For a while they just stood like that, savoring each other's company and affection for as long as possible, until finally they separated.

"What are you doing up so late, Eliza?" Alexander asked. He stopped when he saw his wife's protruding belly, and he inhaled sharply. "Betsey. Oh, Betsey…"

She was pregnant.

"Why didn't you –"

She placed a gentle finger over his lips before he could go any further and walked over to sit on the couch. "Alexander, come here, darling," she said. He sat down beside her, a little uncertainly, all the while staring at her belly.

"Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now," she said. "Look around, look around…"

"How long have you known?" Alexander asked. He was surprised to discover that his voice emerged as little more than a whisper.

"A month or so."

_A month. _A whole _month_. While he was off fighting in the war, she had been with child. Why was he just finding out about this now? "Eliza, you should have told me."

"I wrote to the General a month ago. I begged him to send you home."

"You should have told me."

"I'm not sorry."

Alexander was surprised, if not a little wounded. She hadn't trusted in him enough to believe he'd have come back home on his own had he known.

"I knew you'd fight until the war was won," she said.

He shook his head. "The war's not done."

"_But you deserve a chance to meet your son. _Look around, look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now."

"Will you relish being a poor man's wife…unable to provide for your life?"

She took his hand. "I relish being _your _wife. Look around, look around…

"Look at where you are

Look at where you started.

The fact that you're alive is a miracle

Just stay alive, that would be enough.

And if this child

Shares a fraction of your smile

Or a fragment of your mind,

Look out, world! That would be enough.

I don't pretend to know

The challenges you're facing,

The worlds you keep erasing and creating in your mind

But I'm not afraid

I know who I married.

So long as you come home at the end of the day

That would be enough.

We don't need a legacy

We don't need money

If I could grant you peace of mind,

If you could let me inside your heart

Oh, let me be a part of the narrative

In the story they will write someday

Let this moment be the first chapter

Where you decide to stay…

And I could be enough

And we could be enough

That would be enough."

Alexander smiled, and his eyes filled with tears as Eliza, still holding his hand, guided his fingers across the bump on her belly.

The bump moved.

His heart pounded. "Is that…"

"Kicking," she said.

He stared at the bump in awe. "Our baby," he whispered.

She nodded in fond agreement. "Our baby."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Guns and Ships/History Has Its Eyes On You**

He received the letter from Washington a few weeks later.

_Alexander Hamilton,_

_Troops are waiting in the field for you. If you join us right now, together we can turn the tide._

_I am conceding to your long-expressed and long-frustrated ambitions. I have soldiers that will yield for you. If we manage to get this right, they'll surrender by early light…_

Alexander did not need to read any more. He was feeling ridiculously smug. He knew it was only a matter of time before Washington realized how much he needed him, _and_, on top of that, he was giving him the command he had wanted since day one. That was simply too good an opportunity to pass up.

Kissing Eliza goodbye, he mounted his horse and set off toward the American military campsite.

Washington was waiting for him when he arrived. They shook hands, and Alexander was pleased to note that there was no longer any trace of anger in the general's expression, only a sad smile.

"I was younger than you are now," Washington said, as they walked toward his tent together, and his eyes became dark with the memory of an event that had happened ages ago, "when I was given my first command. I led my men straight into a massacre. I witnessed their deaths firsthand."

Alexander looked at him, shocked. Tears of bitter remorse filled Washington's eyes, and he continued, his voice trembling slightly, "I made every mistake. I felt the shame rise in me. And even now I lie awake, knowing history has its eyes on me."

They entered the tent. Washington retrieved a Hanger sword that was lying on his desk and handed it to Alexander.

"Let me tell you what I wish I'd known, when I was young and dreamed of glory. You have no control: who lives, who dies, who tells your story."

Alexander placed the sword in the sheath on his belt, and Washington gripped his shoulder and looked directly into his eyes. His tone became deadly serious as he said, "I know that we can win. I know that greatness lies in you. But remember from here on in…_history has its eyes on you_."

Alexander nodded. "_History has its eyes on me_," he repeated. And he believed it. His ambition, his unquenchable thirst to leave a legacy, burned within him like a flame that refused to go out no matter how many times he doused it with water. It was a part of him, that flame, and for that reason he knew he had to protect it, no matter the cost.

He and Washington saluted. Determined to make his General proud, Alexander moved with the army toward the battlefield.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14: Yorktown (The World Turned Upside Down)**

The battle of Yorktown. 1781.

_I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory._

Alexander, crouched down low, motioned for his troops to follow him. They obeyed, drifting easily between the trees and scattering about on the battlefield. Before they'd left camp, he had ordered them to remove the ammunition from their guns and unload their muskets. This was a silent attack; they could not afford to let a stray shot give them away.

_This is where it gets me: on my feet, the enemy ahead of me._

He signaled for the attack to commence, and watched as the troops crossed the ditch and leapt over the parapets. Within ten minutes, they managed to overcome the British soldiers who were stationed there.

Reinforcements arrived, and before the British could do so much as open their artillery, Francois Joseph Paul de Grasse and Comte de Barras, two French admirals, joined Alexander's troops and opened fire. The British artillery cannons were soon reduced to ash, making it impossible for them to counterattack. With the enemy subdued, the army marched onward toward their final destination, Chesapeake Bay.

As expected, Lafayette was there, waiting.

Alexander grinned. Mulligan had done well.

"Monsieur Hamilton!" Lafayette cried. He raced up to Alexander and enveloped him in one of his best, bone-crushing hugs.

"Monsieur Lafayette," Alexander greeted warmly. He was overjoyed to see his friend again. "How are you?"

Lafayette smiled. "I see you are finally in command, where you belong."

"How you say, no sweat. We're finally on the field. We've had quite a run."

"Immigrants: we get the job done."

Lafayette winked, and Alexander laughed. "So what happens if we win?"

"I go back to France. I bring freedom to my people if I'm given the chance."

"We'll be with you when you do –"

Their conversation was interrupted when a young soldier on a bay stallion galloped toward them. "Colonel Hamilton! Marquis de Lafayette!" he called. His voice was shrill. "General Cornwallis has arrived in Yorktown! He's planning an attack!"

A shiver of dread ran up Alexander's spine. Would the British never give in?

Lafayette embraced him again. "Go, lead your men!"

Alexander was thrilled at the prospect of leading another battalion, but he had only just reunited with his friend. _This is too soon, _he thought. He could only hope that he would emerge from this alive. "I'll see you on the other side."

"'Til we meet again, let's go!"

As he rallied the troops for yet another battle, he suddenly remembered something.

_Eliza._

Eliza was expecting him to come home. Not only that, she was _expecting_. She needed him with her, to raise their child. She would be devastated if he died out here on the battlefield.

For an instant, he considered giving up his command. Now that he finally had something to live for at home, was choosing to remain a Lieutenant-Colonel really necessary anymore? Out here, he was likely to do something reckless and (needlessly) get himself killed.

But then a resolute, achingly familiar tune echoed in his mind.

_I am not throwing away my shot_

_I am not throwing away my shot_

_Hey yo, I'm just like my country, I'm young, scrappy and hungry_

_And I'm not throwing away my shot…_

The decision was made. _I am not throwing away my shot._ He was going to stay in the army, at least until this battle was over. Then, when the nation was freed, he would have all the time in the world to spend with his family.

"We will fight up close! Seize the moment and stay in it," he shouted to his men. "It's either that or meet the business end of a bayonet! The code word is 'Rochambeau', dig me?"

"Rochambeau!" they repeated after him.

He nodded satisfactorily. "You have your orders now, go, men, go!"

As they rushed off to meet Cornwallis' troops, he prayed that he had made the right choice.

**ooOoo**

They fought for a week. On the morning of October 17th, a young man in a red coat climbed on a parapet. The American and French soldiers lowered their guns as he frantically waved a white handkerchief.

The man was blindfolded and led to the rear of the army, where he and George Washington negotiated the terms of surrender. As Alexander and Washington made eye contact, the aging general offered a rare, close-mouthed smile.

To Alexander, that was a victory in and of itself.

As the humiliated British army marched out of Yorktown, onlookers gaped in amazement. It truly was an incredible scene: tens of thousands of Redcoats flooded the streets, their muskets reversed and their flags furled. There were screams, and church bells ringing. Distantly, the tune of an old English ballad could be heard. Alexander strained his ears to listen to the words:

_The world turned upside down…the world turned upside down…_

And it did indeed. Just moments ago, the American army had been shedding sweat, blood, and tears to create their own legislature. Moments ago, Washington had been struggling to continue the fight while men, women, and children around him died. Moments ago, they had been _so close _to losing hope completely.

But they had done it.

Tears burned at Alexander's eyes as he was hit with the realization that they were truly independent.

_The world turned upside down…_

"Freedom for America, freedom for France!" Lafayette hollered.

_Down, down, down…_

"Gotta start a new nation, gotta meet my son!" Alexander cried.

_Down, down, down…_

"We won! We won! We won! _We won_!"

_The world turned upside down!_


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15: What Comes Next?**

King George III strolled through the halls of his palace, despondent.

_They say_

_The price of my war's not a price that they're willing to pay._

He huffed.

_Insane!_

_You cheat with the French, now I'm fighting with France and with Spain!_

_I'm so blue!_

He shifted his cloak and sat down in the enormous throne that he adored so much, resting his cheek against his hand.

_I thought that we'd made an arrangement when you went away_

_You were mine to subdue!_

_Well, even despite our estrangement,_

_I've got a small query for you…_

_What comes next? You've been freed_

_Do you know how hard it is to lead?_

_You're on your own._

He snorted sarcastically. _Awesome. Wow._

_Do you have a clue what happens now?_

_Oceans rise_

_Empires fall,_

_It's much harder when it's all your call_

_All alone, across the sea_

_When your people say they hate you,_

_Don't come crawling back to me._

With a bitter grumble, he rose from his seat and stormed off. _You're on your own._


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16: Dear Theodosia/Tomorrow There'll Be More of Us**

Theodosia was crying again. Frantically, I rushed to her crib and scooped her up into my arms.

"Shh," I murmured, rocking her back and forth gently. "Shh…"

After several minutes, she was still crying. I bit my lip. Was she hungry? I held the milk bottle to her lips, but she didn't drink from it. No…Tired? No. Did she want her toy? No…

"Shh," I said again. "It's alright. Papa's here for you. Papa's here…"

Then I got an idea. I could sing her a lullaby. I'd written a poem for her a few months back, when she was born. Taking a deep breath, I began to recite it:

"_Dear Theodosia, what to say to you?_

_You have my eyes. You have your mother's name._

_When you came into the world you cried, and it broke my heart._"

She whimpered. I soothed my hand over her back affectionately.

"_I'm dedicating every day to you. Domestic life was never quite my style but_

_When you smile,_

_You knock me out, I fall apart_

_And I thought I was so smart._

_You will come of age with our young nation,_

_We'll bleed and fight for you. We'll make it right for you._

_If we lay a strong enough foundation,_

_We'll pass it on to you. We'll give the world to you_

_And you'll blow us all away._

_Someday, someday._

_Yeah, you'll blow us all away._

_Someday, someday…_"

No sooner had I finished the poem than she went limp in my arms. I looked down at her and smiled – she was asleep. My heart swelled with pride as I ran my fingers through her silky curls, and carefully placed her back in the crib. She snuffled, causing me to chuckle fondly.

I stood watching her sleep for the rest of the afternoon. She was my daughter – my world.

**ooOoo**

Alexander removed his hands from his eyes once more.

"Peek-a-boo!"

Philip shrieked with laughter.

"Again! Again!"

Alexander chuckled. "Peek-a-boo!"

Philip clapped his hands together gleefully, and, reaching up, tweaked his father's nose.

Alexander's heart leapt out of his chest at the gesture.

The tender moment was interrupted when he heard Eliza call his name from across the room.

"Alexander? There's a letter for you from South Carolina."

"It's from John Laurens," Alexander said. "I'll read it later."

"No," said Eliza. There was the sound of soft footsteps making their way toward him, and a slender, long-fingered hand came to rest on his shoulder. "It's from his father."

Alexander's throat closed up. "His father?"

Had something happened to Laurens? The last time Alexander had heard from him, he'd been in South Carolina, trying to convince Congress to end slavery.

"Will you read it?" Alexander asked tentatively.

Eliza took a deep breath. "_On Tuesday the 27__th__, my son was killed in a gunfight against British troops retreating from South Carolina. The war was already over. As you know, John dreamed of emancipating and recruiting 3,000 men for the first all-black military regiment. His dream of freedom for these men dies with him…_"

Alexander didn't hear the rest. _My son was killed in a gunfight against British troops…_Laurens was dead. But…no. It couldn't be. It _couldn't _be true. Laurens was his closest friend. He loved him like a brother. His brother _couldn't be dead_…

"Alexander."

Why? Why did everyone he grew attached to have to die? Why did they have to be ripped away from him?

"Alexander, are you alright?"

He looked at Eliza. She was eyeing him worriedly.

He stared at her for a long moment. He couldn't bring himself to speak.

"I have so much work to do," he finally managed to whisper. Then he stood up, and without a backward glance, made his way toward his study.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17: Non-Stop**

After the war I went back to New York. I finished up my studies and I practiced law.

Alexander worked next door.

To my chagrin, even though we started at the very same time, he began to gain on me exceedingly quickly. How to account for his rise to the top?

Man, the man is _non-stop_.

I shifted in my seat and tried to stifle a yawn as he made the opening statements of our case.

"Gentlemen of the jury, I'm curious – bear with me. Are you aware that we're making history? This is the first murder trial of our brand-new nation, the liberty behind deliberation…"

I checked my watch. _Non-stop. _He had been talking for at least forty minutes already.

"…I intend to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt…"

I had always marveled at Alexander's ability to speak in perfectly formed paragraphs for hours on end, without pausing for breath. His lungs must have been made of steel.

"…with my assistant counsel…"

Now, this was just getting ridiculous. Was he _trying _to one-up me? Exasperated, I decided to interrupt him.

"_Co_-counsel. Hamilton, sit down. 'Our client Levi Weeks is innocent. Call your first witness.' That's all you had to say."

He ignored me. "Okay! One more thing –"

_Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? _I thought, glaring at him as he went on yet another ramble. _Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room?_

_Soon that attitude may be your doom._

When he had finally finished speaking, and the first witness came up, he immediately began to write. I shook my head; I was becoming increasingly confused by his antics.

_Why do you write like you're running out of time?_

_Write day and night like you're running out of time?_

_Every day you fight like you're running out of time!_

_Keep on fighting. In the meantime –_

At that moment he leapt up again. I groaned. _Another speech._

"Corruption's such an old song that we can sing along in harmony

And nowhere is it stronger than in Albany!

This colony's economy's increasingly stalling and honestly

That's why public service seems to be calling me…"

_He's just non-stop! _Words were tumbling out of his mouth so fast that I could barely understand what he was saying.

"I practiced the law, I practically perfected it

I've seen injustice in the world and I've corrected it!

Now for a strong central democracy

If not then I'll be Socrates throwing verbal rocks at these mediocrities!"

To make matters worse, after the case was over, Alexander was chosen for the Constitutional Convention as a New York junior delegate. I could only imagine what that must have been like.

I wasn't surprised to hear that he had proposed his own form of government (his own plan for a new form of government!), and took up the majority of the Convention by talking for six hours.

_Six whole hours._

_Why do you always say what you believe?_

_Why do you always say what you believe?_

_Every proclamation guarantees free ammunition for your enemies!_

_Why do you write like it's going out of style?_

_Write day and night like it's going out of style?_

_Every day you fight like it's going out of style_

_Do what you do!_

I could only shake my head in wonder.

**ooOoo**

A couple of nights later, I had just put Theodosia to bed when I heard a knock at my door.

_Now who could that be at this late hour? _I thought, rubbing my eyes. I made my way over to the front of the house and opened the door to see who my visitor was.

It was Alexander. Of course. Only he would have the gall to show up at my doorstep in the middle of the night.

"Alexander?" I asked.

He smiled. He didn't seem at all tired. "Aaron Burr, sir."

"It's the middle of the night," I pointed out.

"Can we confer, sir?"

I hesitated. "Is this a legal matter?"

"Yes, and it's important to me."

I sighed. "What do you need?"

"Burr, you're a better lawyer than me."

I was conscious of my eyebrows shooting up my forehead. _Did he just compliment me? _"Okay…" I said uncertainly.

"I know I talk too much, I'm abrasive. You're incredible in court; you're succinct, persuasive. My client needs a strong defense. You're the solution."

"Who's your client?"

"The new U.S. Constitution."

Immediately I shook my head. "No."

"Hear me out."

"No way!"

"A series of essays, anonymously published, defending the document to the public!"

"No one will read it."

"I disagree."

"And if it fails?"

"Burr, that's why we need it."

"The Constitution's a mess!"

"So it needs amendments –"

"It's full of contradictions."

"So is independence! We have to start somewhere!"

"No. No way."

"You're making a mistake."

I laughed. "Goodnight." I reached over to shut the door.

He caught it between his fingertips. "Hey."

I crossed my arms. "What?"

"What are you waiting for? What do you stall for? We won the war, what was it all for? Do you support this Constitution?"

"Of course," I lied.

"Then defend it."

"And what if you're backing the wrong horse?"

"Burr, we studied and we fought and we killed for the notion of a nation we now get to build! For once in your life, take a stand with pride. I don't understand how you stand to the side!"

"I'll keep all my plans close to my chest!" I hissed at him. His violet eyes, which had been sparkling with confusion, turned angry. "I'll wait here and see which way the wind will blow! _I'm taking my time, watching the afterbirth of a nation, watching the tension grow_!"

And with that, I closed the door in his face.

Eventually, it turned out that he didn't need my help in defending the Constitution, anyway.

I soon learned that he joined forces with James Madison and John Jay to write a series of essays, entitled the 'Federalist Papers'. The plan was to write a total of twenty-five essays, the work divided evenly among the three men. In the end, they wrote eighty-five essays, in the span of six months.

John Jay got sick after writing five. James Madison wrote twenty-nine.

_Alexander wrote_ _the other_ _fifty-one!_

_How does he write like he's running out of time?_

_Write day and night like he's running out of time?_

_Every day he fights like he's running out of time_

_Like he's running out of time_

_Is he running out of time?_

_How do you write like tomorrow won't arrive?_

_How do you write like you need it to survive?_

_How do you write every second you're alive, every second you're alive_

_EVERY SECOND YOU'RE ALIVE?_

I went back to my bedroom, my jealousy and anger overriding all else. I did not know whether I was furious with myself, or with Alexander.

**ooOoo**

"Alexander…"

"I have to leave."

"Alexander!"

Alexander was currently arguing with his wife. Upon being appointed by Washington as the first Secretary of the Treasury, he learned that he would have to leave domestic life for a considerable amount of time. But Eliza wouldn't have it.

"Look around, look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now!" he pleaded with her, using her own words against her. Why couldn't she see the importance of his position? This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. This was his chance to be a part of history. This was his _dream _– she should be supporting him!

Her expression turned wounded. "Helpless…"

"They are asking me to lead!"

"Look around! Isn't this enough?"

When he didn't respond, she glowered at him.

"Angelica was right," she said quietly. Her voice was icy, and real anger flared in her face now. Flinging the words at him with force, she cried, "_You will never be satisfied_!"

_You will never be satisfied! Satisfied! Satisfied!_

_Satisfied!_

_History has its eyes on you…_

_Look around! What would be enough?_

_He will never be satisfied…He will never be satisfied…_

_History has its eyes on you!_

"I am not throwing away my shot," Alexander asserted, a little more harshly than he intended. He was going to take the job, whether she liked it or not. "I am not throwing away my shot!"

_I am Alexander Hamilton!_

_Just you wait!_

"I am not throwing away my shot!"

And with that, he left the house, Eliza, and everything he'd ever known.


	18. END OF ACT I

**END OF ACT I**

Congratulations, you reached the end of Act I! Buckle up, because it pretty much just goes downhill from here...

Thank you for clicking this story, and if you're still here despite my trash writing, I applaud you trooper :)


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19: What'd I Miss?**

1789.

_How does the bastard, orphan, immigrant, decorated war vet, unite the colonies through more debt and fight the other founding fathers until he has to forfeit? Have it all, lose it all…_

You ready for more yet?

Treasury Secretary (Washington's the President). Every American experiment sets a precedent. Not so fast, someone came along to resist him. Pissed him off until we had a two-party system!

You haven't met him yet – you haven't had the chance, because he's been kicking ass as the ambassador to France. But someone's got to keep the American promise:

You simply must meet Thomas Jefferson!

**ooOoo**

_France is following us to revolution. There is no more status quo. But the sun comes up, and the world still spins._

Thomas strode purposefully down the halls of his Monticello residence, glad to be home. He had been living in Paris for quite some time, from August of 1784 to September of 1798, helping Lafayette draft a declaration for the upcoming French Revolution.

_Now the work at home begins…_

_So what'd I miss?_

_What'd I miss?_

_Virginia, my home sweet home, I wanna give you a kiss._

_I've been in Paris meeting lots of different ladies._

_I guess I basically missed the late eighties…_

_I traveled the wide, wide world and came back to this!_

He was just on his way to his master suite when his slave and mistress, Sally Hemmings, greeted him.

"Sir, there's a letter on your desk from the President," she told him.

He raised his brow, surprised. "I haven't even put my bag down yet," he said. "Sally, be a lamb, darling, won'tcha open it?"

She obeyed, rushing over to his desk and opening the envelope. He skimmed over it quickly.

"It says the President's assembling a cabinet and that I am to be the Secretary of State!" he exclaimed. "Great! And that I'm already Senate-approved…" _I just got home and now I'm headed up to New York!_

Within twenty minutes, he had summoned a coach, and was on his way to the federal government's headquarters.

_Looking at the rolling fields, I can't believe that we are free!_

_Ready to face whatever's awaiting me in NYC!_

He stepped down from the coach, paid his fee, and almost bumped smack into James Madison, who had apparently been awaiting his arrival. His friend's usually pale face was a shade of deep crimson, and he was coughing heavily into a handkerchief.

Madison grabbed his arm.

"Thomas, we're engaged in a battle for our nation's very soul," he said, his voice urgent. "Can you get us out of the mess we're in?"

Thomas looked at him, puzzled. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Hamilton's new financial plan is nothing less than government control! I've been fighting for the South alone." Madison tapped his foot impatiently. "Where have you been?"

Thomas grinned sheepishly. "Uh…France."

"We have to win!"

_What'd I miss?_

_What'd I miss?_

_Headfirst into a political abyss!_

_I have my first cabinet meeting today. I guess I better think of something to say…_

_I'm already on my way, let's get to the bottom of this!_

Madison, exasperated, grabbed Thomas' arm again and led him over to President Washington, who was standing nearby chatting with a younger man. Washington, upon seeing him, shot him a thin smile.

"Mr. Jefferson, welcome home," he said warmly, shaking his hand. Thomas inclined his head politely in return.

The younger man Washington had been talking with joined them. "Mr. Jefferson?" he said, holding out his hand for Thomas to shake as well. "Alexander Hamilton."

Thomas cocked his head. This _is Hamilton? _he thought. _The man James warned me about? He's…not what I expected._

It was true. Alexander stood at almost a full head shorter than Thomas, and though the suit he wore was trim and elegant, it was not particularly dashing. His face held no hostility or anger – in fact, he looked rather friendly.

He was not intimidating in the slightest.

Thomas shook his hand. "So what did I miss?" he asked.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20: Cabinet Battle #1**

"The issue on the table: Secretary Hamilton's plan to assume state debt and establish a national bank. Secretary Jefferson, you have the floor, sir."

Alexander watched as Jefferson rose from his seat and made his way to the center of the room. He had a satisfied little smirk on his face as he began his opening argument:

"'Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness'

We fought for these ideals; we shouldn't settle for less

These are wise words, enterprising men quote 'em

Don't act surprised, you guys, 'cause I wrote 'em!"

Alexander had to resist the urge to clap unenthusiastically at this remark. _You're quoting yourself. Lovely._ Jefferson was so full of himself that he could almost laugh. Not only that, but the words weren't even _original_; they were directly inspired by Aristotle's _Nicomachean Ethics_.

"Oh, but Hamilton forgets

His plan would have the government assume state's debts.

Now, place your bets as to who that benefits – the very seat of government where Hamilton sits!"

At this, Alexander stood up. "Not true!" he said indignantly. Jefferson was right in the sense that having the federal government assume states' debts would grant the Treasury Department more power, but it would also unify the colonies. That he had the nerve to accuse Alexander of corruption was insulting.

"Oh, if the shoe fits, wear it.

If New York's in debt, why should Virginia bear it?

Our debts are paid, I'm afraid

Don't tax the South 'cause we got it made in the shade.

In Virginia, we plant seeds in the ground – we create

You just wanna move our money around.

This financial plan is an outrageous demand, and it's too many damn pages for any man to understand!"

As he said this, Jefferson picked up Alexander's _Report on Public Credit _and sifted through the pages, tearing some of them in the process. Alexander's blood ran cold, and he snatched the report away angrily. Jefferson smirked.

"Stand with me, in the land of the free

And pray to God we never see Hamilton's candidacy.

Look, when Britain taxed our tea, we got frisky.

Imagine what goin' happen when you try to tax our whiskey!"

Jefferson finished his argument with an extravagant flourish of his tailcoat, and Washington nodded. "Thank you, Secretary Jefferson," he said. He laid a hand on Alexander's shoulder. "Secretary Hamilton, your response."

Alexander stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"Thomas, that was a real nice declaration.

Welcome to the present, we're running a real nation

Would you like to join us,

Or stay mellow doing whatever the hell it is you do in Monticello?"

Alexander caught Washington's eye, who nodded approvingly. Satisfied with this silent encouragement, he continued:

"If we assume the debts, the union gets a new line of credit, a financial diuretic

How do you not get it? If we're aggressive and competitive,

The union gets a boost. You'd rather give it a sedative?

A civics lesson from a slaver, hey neighbor

Your debts are paid 'cause you don't pay for labor

'We plant seeds in the South, we create'. Yeah, keep ranting

We know who's really doing the planting."

Now it was Alexander's turn to smirk as Jefferson's eyes narrowed. Beside him, Madison eyed the two opponents warily.

"And another thing, Mr. 'Age of Enlightenment'

Don't lecture me about the war; you didn't fight in it

You think I'm frightened of you, man? We almost died in the trench

While you were off getting high with the French!"

At this, Washington rose, shooting Alexander a warning glance. Alexander continued regardless:

"Thomas Jefferson, always hesitant with the President

Reticent – there isn't a plan he doesn't jettison."

Madison suddenly began to cough loudly into his ever-present handkerchief, and Alexander rounded on him.

"Madison, you're mad as a hatter, son, take your medicine!

Damn, you're in worse shape than the national debt is in

Sittin' there useless as two shits

Hey, turn around, bend over, _I'll show you where my shoe fits_!"

"_Excuse me_?!" Washington shouted. He forced his way in between Alexander and Jefferson as they lunged at each other, both quivering with rage. "Madison, Jefferson, take a walk! Hamilton, take a walk! _Hamilton_!"

Guilt immediately washed over Alexander at the tone. "Sir?"

"_A word_."

He followed Washington as the President pulled him aside and whispered furiously in his ear.

"You don't have the votes. _You don't have the votes. You're going to need congressional approval and you don't have the votes_."

"The only reason I don't have the votes is because Madison betrayed me!" Alexander said through clenched teeth. "I was counting on his support! If he hadn't been so obstinate about the bill none of this would have happened!"

Washington raised his brows at this little outburst. "You want to pull yourself together?"

Alexander hung his head. "I'm sorry, these Virginians are birds of a feather."

"Young man, I'm from Virginia, so watch your mouth!"

"So we let Congress get held hostage by the South?"

Washington sighed. Alexander was vaguely reminded of the argument they'd had years earlier over the duel with Charles Lee. "You need the votes."

"No, we need bold strokes. We need this plan."

"No, _you _need to convince more folks."

"Well, Madison won't talk to me. That's a nonstarter."

"Winning was easy, young man. Governing's harder."

"They're being intransigent –"

"_You have to find a compromise_."

"But they don't have a plan, they just hate mine!"

"Convince them otherwise."

"And what happens if I don't get congressional approval?"

"I imagine they'll call for your removal."

Alexander paled. "Sir –"

"Figure it out, Alexander. _That's an order from your commander_."

And with that, Washington left him.

This was it, Alexander thought. Either get his debt plan through Congress, or lose his job.

He would have to work a lot harder if he wanted to remain Treasury Secretary.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21: Take a Break**

_My dearest, Angelica_

_"__Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day." I trust you'll understand the reference to another Scottish tragedy without my having to name the play. They think me Macbeth, and ambition is my folly. I'm a polymath, a pain in the ass – a massive pain. Madison is Banquo, Jefferson's Macduff, and Birnam Wood is Congress on its way to Dunsinane._

_And there you are, an ocean away. Do you have to live an ocean away? Thoughts of you subside, then I get another letter. I cannot put the notion away…_

Alexander paused in the middle of his letter when Eliza's voice came to him from downstairs. "Take a break."

He nodded distractedly. "I'm on my way."

"There's a little surprise before supper and it cannot wait."

"I'll be there in just a minute, save my plate."

"_Alexander_!"

He put his quill down, surrendering. "Okay, okay." He exited his study and went downstairs to the living room, where Eliza and Philip were seated together at the piano. They looked up when they saw him, and a wide smile broke out across Philip's face.

"Your son is nine years old today," said Eliza, "and he has something he'd like to say. He's been practicing all day." She motioned to Philip. "Philip, take it away."

Philip stood up from his seat nervously. Alexander listened with amusement as the little boy began to recite a poem.

"Daddy, Daddy, look –

My name is Philip

I am a poet

I wrote this poem just to show it

And I just turned nine

You can write rhymes but you can't write mine."

Alexander laughed. Philip, encouraged, continued with more excitement:

"I practice French and play piano with my mother

I have a sister but I want a little brother!

My daddy's tryna start America's bank

_Un-deux-trois-quatre-cinq_!"

Alexander clapped for him. "Bravo!" he praised. Philip beamed and wrapped his arms around his father in an embrace. Alexander returned it and dropped a kiss to his forehead.

Eliza smiled fondly at them. "Take a break," she said again to Alexander.

Alexander released Philip, who left the living room to go pound up the flight of stairs. As the sound of his footsteps retreated, Alexander remarked, "Hey, our kid is pretty great."

"Run away with us for the summer. Let's go upstate."

"Eliza, I've got so much on my plate."

"We can all go stay with my father. There's a lake I know…"

"I know."

"In a nearby park…"

"I'd love to go."

"You and I can go when the night gets dark."

"I will try to get away." Alexander kissed her and returned upstairs to his study, leaving her staring after him. Guilt ripped at him; he knew that he would not be able to spend the summer with her, for he had work to do. He needed to get his plan through Congress.

**ooOoo**

_My dearest Alexander_

_You must get through to Jefferson. Sit down with him and compromise. Don't stop until you agree. Your favorite older sister, Angelica, reminds you there's someone in your corner all the way across the sea._

_In a letter I received from you two weeks ago, I noticed a comma in the middle of a phrase. It changed the meaning. Did you intend this? One stroke, and you've consumed my waking days. It says: "My dearest Angelica", with a comma after "dearest". You've written_

_"__My dearest, Angelica"._

Alexander smiled at the letter. So she _had _seen it.

_Anyway, all this to say: I'm coming home this summer, at my sister's invitation. I'll be there with your family if you make your way upstate. I know you're very busy. I know your work's important, but I'm crossing the ocean and I just can't wait._

His heartbeat quickened, and he could feel his cheeks turning hot. Angelica was coming to visit. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her. Ever since she had sailed off to London to accommodate for her new husband's business, she had become less and less a part of his life.

And now…

_You won't be an ocean away. You'll only be a moment away._

To be perfectly honest, he wasn't sure that he was ready.

**ooOoo**

"Alexander, come downstairs. Angelica's arriving today!"

Alexander shoved aside his work at Eliza's joyful call and raced downstairs. As if on cue, Angelica came through the door, carrying multiple suitcases. She placed them down on the floor beside her as Eliza barreled toward her.

"Angelica," Eliza exclaimed. She enveloped her sister in a hug.

Angelica laughed. "Eliza!"

Alexander smiled, observing them fondly, and somewhat longingly. He wished he'd been as close to his siblings as these two were to each other. "The Schuyler sisters."

Angelica pulled away from Eliza to hug him as well. "Alexander!"

He held back a bit under his wife's gaze. "Hi."

"It's good to see your face."

Eliza came around to his side and stroked his shoulder tenderly. "Angelica, tell this man that John Adams spends the summer with his family."

He smiled ruefully. "Angelica, tell my wife that John Adams doesn't have a real job, anyway."

Angelica's face fell. "…You're not joining us? Wait."

"I'm afraid I cannot join you upstate."

"Alexander, I came all this way."

"She came all this way –" Eliza chided.

"All this way! Take a break!"

"You know I have to get my plan through Congress," Alexander tried to protest, but the two women were already talking over him.

"Run away with us for the summer, let's go upstate," they chorused.

"I lose my job if we don't get this plan through Congress –"

"We can all go stay with our father

There's a lake I know

_I know I'll miss your face –_

In a nearby park!

_Screw your courage to the sticking place!_

You and I can go

_Eliza's right –_

Take a break and get away!

_Run away with us for the summer_

Let's go upstate

_We can all go stay with our father_

_If you take your time –_

Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now!

_You will make your mark_

_Close your eyes and dream –_

We can go when the night gets dark!

_Take a break!_"

Alexander shut his eyes and sighed. "I have to get my plan through Congress," he said regretfully. "I can't stop until I get my plan through Congress."

That was the second time he'd rejected Eliza when she'd asked him to stop working. He could see the pain in her face as she looked at him with her big doe eyes, and it was enough to tear him apart. Turning away, he trooped back upstairs.

Little did he know that a few weeks later, he would wish that he'd taken that break more than anything else in his life.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22: Say No to This**

Alexander groaned again as black pressed in on his vision. _Damn it! _He threw the quill down in frustration and rubbed at his temples furiously. He was becoming dizzy again. The lack of food and sleepless nights were finally getting to him. He knew that he ought to stop writing and go back to sleep before it got worse, but…there was so much to do, and so little time…

He missed Eliza. He missed _Angelica_. He knew he should have gone with them to Albany when he had the chance. Now he was trapped here, with nothing to do but –

There was a knock at his door.

Fighting back a sudden wave of vertigo as he stood up from his desk, he went to go open it.

He was surprised when he saw that his visitor was a woman.

She was fairly beautiful, with long, platinum blonde locks and blue eyes. Her dress was ragged and torn, and a greenish-blue bruise marred her pale complexion. Almost immediately, Alexander felt a wave of sympathy toward her; she looked exhausted.

Before he could even greet her, however, she said to him in a breathless tone, "I know you are a man of honor. I'm so sorry to bother you at home, but I don't know where to go. And I came here all alone…"

Under any other circumstance, he would have become suspicious and questioned her as to how she knew where he lived, but he was so tired and so distracted that he stayed quiet.

"…My husband's doin' me wrong. Beatin' me…cheatin' me…mistreatin' me…suddenly he's up and gone. I don't have the means to go on…"

He offered her a loan, he offered to walk her home. She said, "You're too kind, sir." He gave her thirty bucks that he had socked away, she lived a block away – she said, "This one's mine, sir."

He was a little confused as to what she meant by that, but it soon became clear. Her cheeks flushing, she showed him her bedroom and sat on the bed.

She spread her legs.

"Stay?" she asked.

His mind reeled. He backed up until he was cornered against the wall. Vaguely he reached out a hand behind him to search for the doorknob. Maria – for that was her name – approached him and hooked her arms around his neck.

"Hey…" he protested weakly, then trailed off when her lips pressed against his.

He was taken aback, to say the least. His mind screamed at him to stop this, to _say no_, but…her lips were so soft, and so tender…

He felt strangely detached. The knowledge that he had a wife and children was pushed to the back of his mind as he sank deeper into the kiss, and allowed her to lead him to her bed.

_No! No! Say no to this!_

_No! No! Say no to this!_

_No! No! Say no to this!_

_NO! NO! SAY NO TO THIS!_

**ooOoo**

He wished he could say that was the last time. After that last time, it became a pastime. A month into the affair he noticed an envelope on his desk.

The sender was a "Mr. James Reynolds". He swallowed and opened it.

_Dear Sir,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health, and in a prosperous enough position to put wealth in the pockets of people like me: down on their luck. You see, that was my wife who you decided to –_

Alexander's heart plummeted as realization dawned on him. _Fuuuu –_

_Uh-oh! You made the wrong sucker a cuckold. So time to pay the piper for the pants you unbuckled. And you can keep seeing my whore wife, if the price is right – if not, I'm telling YOUR WIFE._

He hid the letter in his coat and raced to Maria's house as fast as he could. Once there, he pounded on the door and screamed, "_How could you?!_"

She was alarmed. "No, sir!" she tried to protest, but he cut her off.

"So was your whole story a setup?!"

"I don't know about any letter!"

_I never mentioned anything about a letter! _"Stop crying, goddammit, get up!"

"I didn't know any better!"

Alexander clutched at his hair, furious. It suddenly occurred to him that this might ruin his political career. "I am ruined…"

"Just give him what he wants, and you can have me," Maria offered.

He backed away from her, disgusted. "I don't want you!"

"Whatever you want…if you pay, you can stay!"

_Lord, show me how to say no to this! I don't know how to say no to this… _She approached him again, and ran her long-fingered hands along his chest.

_The situation's helpless…_

She pulled up a chair. His knees buckled and he collapsed into it, moaning with pleasure as her lips began to trail little kisses along his neck.

_And her body's screaming, "hell, yes"…_

At that moment James Reynolds appeared in the doorway. They leapt up.

"So?" Reynolds asked. He was eyeing Alexander shrewdly.

_There is nowhere I can go. _Alexander sighed and pulled a bill out of his pocket. He handed it to Reynolds.

"Nobody needs to know."

Reynolds grinned, and slapped the bill triumphantly against his thigh. Alexander was suddenly filled with an overwhelming desire to bash the man's face in.

But what benefit would that bring him? He had no one to blame but himself.

In hindsight, saying the word 'no' really shouldn't have been that difficult.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23: The Room Where It Happens**

Alexander was writing again, I noticed, unsurprisingly. He always wrote with a strange urgency, as if he was haunted by the notion that at any given moment his life would end and that he had to get everything down on paper before it was too late.

As if he knew that I would kill him.

"Ah, Mister Secretary," I greeted.

He looked up briefly when he saw me, then returned to his work. "Mr. Burr, sir."

"Did you hear the news about good ol' General Mercer?"

He shook his head. "No."

"You know Claremont Street?"

"Yeah."

"They renamed it after him. The Mercer legacy is secure."

"Sure."

His terse responses intrigued me. Alexander was not usually one to stay quiet. I was under the distinct impression that he was hiding something.

I pressed him further. "And all he had to do was die."

He snorted. "That's a lot less work."

"We oughtta give it a try."

He said nothing, fully engrossed in his work. I looked over his shoulder to see what he was writing. "So how're you gonna get your debt plan through?" I asked.

"I guess I'm gonna finally have to listen to you."

I raised a brow. "Really?"

He cleared his throat, then proceeded to do a sleazy, mildly amusing impression of me. "_Talk less. Smile more._"

I chuckled.

"_Do whatever it takes to get my plan on the Congress floor_."

"Now, Madison and Jefferson are merciless," I said.

He shrugged. "Well. Hate the sin, love the sinner." He stood up, checked his pocket watch, and cleared his papers. "I'm sorry, Burr, I've gotta go."

"But –"

"Decisions are happening over dinner," he said simply. I watched him leave, puzzled.

Two Virginians and an immigrant walk into a room, diametrically opposed; foes. They emerge with a compromise, having opened doors that were previously closed. The immigrant emerges with unprecedented financial power, a system he can shape however he wants…the Virginians emerge with the nation's capital.

And here's the pièce de résistance:

_No one else was in the room where it happened,_

_The room where it happened,_

_The room where it happened._

No one really knows how the game is played – the art of the trade, how the sausage gets made. We just assume that it happens. But no one else is in the room where it happens.

Jefferson claims that Alexander was on Washington's doorstep one day, in distress and disarray. Alexander said, "_I've nowhere else to turn!_", and basically _begged _him to join the fray. Jefferson approached Madison and said, "_I know you hate him, but let's hear what he has to say._" After that, he arranged the meeting. He arranged the menu, the venue, the seating.

But –

_No one else was in the room where it happened,_

_The room where it happened,_

_The room where it happened._

No one really knows how the parties get to 'yes', the pieces that are sacrificed in every game of chess. We just assume that it happens. But no one else is in the room where it happens.

_My God! _It wasn't fair – it wasn't _right _– that Alexander had been invited to a private dinner with Jefferson and Madison instead of me. _In God we trust, but we'll never really know what got discussed!_ _Click-boom,_ _then it happened!_

_And no one else was in the room where it happened!_

I had had enough. Fuming, I made my way over to the Treasury office, determined to get some answers.

I burst into the Secretary's office.

"Alexander!" I said. "What did they say to you to get you to sell New York City down the river?!"

He was hunched over a sheet, his quill scratching steadily on the parchment. He didn't answer me.

"Did Washington know about the dinner? Was there presidential pressure to deliver?"

Still no response.

I slammed my fists down on his desk, upsetting the inkpot and spilling the obsidian liquid all over his paper. He hissed and snatched it up, staining his hands in the process.

"_Or did you know, even then, it doesn't matter where you put the U.S. Capital_?"

He looked at me, and his violet eyes were cold. "'Cause we'll have the banks. We're in the same spot."

"You got more than you gave."

"And I wanted what I got. When you got skin in the game, you stay in the game. But you don't get a win unless you play in the game. Oh, you get love for it. You get hate for it. You get nothing if you _wait for it, wait for it_."

It was like a punch to the gut. I staggered back, shocked.

He stood up. "God help and forgive me!" he cried. "I want to build something that's gonna outlive me."

_What do _you _want, Burr?_

_What do _you _want, Burr?_

_If you stand for nothing, Burr, then what do you fall for?_

"I want to be in the room where it happens, the room where it happens, the room where it happens," I said, answering this unspoken question. "_I want to be in the room where it happens, the room where it happens, the room where it happens_!"

_I want to be_

_I've got to be_

_In the room!_

_In that big ol' room!_

I looked at Alexander scornfully. I didn't even know him anymore. "The art of the compromise. _Hold your nose and close your eyes_. We want our leaders to save the day, but we don't get a say in what you trade away!

"We dream of a brand-new start

But we dream in the dark for the most part!

_Dark as a tomb where it happens_!"

_I've got to be in the room where it happens!_

_I've got to be –_

_I'VE GOT TO BE IN THE ROOM!_

I was done waiting. I was done standing quietly to the side. I was done staying in the background.

If I wanted to be in the room, I would have to change my ways. I would have to take a risk, like Alexander always did.

_Hamilton doesn't hesitate. He exhibits no restraint. He takes, and he takes, and he takes…_

The very thought repulsed me. But it was necessary.

It was time to start afresh.

_CLICK-BOOM!_


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24: Schuyler Defeated/Cabinet Battle #2**

_War hero Philip Schuyler loses senate seat to young upstart Aaron Burr._

I grinned. The news had made the paper. It would only be a matter of time before Alexander found out.

Sure enough, I spotted him making his way toward me at a feverish pace.

"Burr?" he asked. "Since when are you a Democratic-Republican?"

"Since being one put me on the up and up again," I replied.

He crossed his arms. "No one knows who you are or what you do."

"They don't need to know me; they don't like you."

He looked affronted. "Excuse me?"

His indignation pleased me. "Oh, Wall Street thinks you're great," I said. "You'll always be adored by the things you create. But upstate – people think you're crooked. The Schuyler seat was up for grabs, so I took it."

His eyes narrowed until they were almost slits. "I've always considered you a friend."

I looked back at him innocently. "I don't see why that has to end."

"You changed parties to run against my father-in-law!"

"I changed parties to seize the opportunity I saw." If he wanted to play politics, then so be it. "I swear, your pride will be the death of us all. Beware, _it goeth before the fall_!"

He huffed, then promptly turned his back on me. I continued my casual stroll down the street, thinking nothing of it. If he didn't like my methods, then that was his problem. I smirked.

_Congratulations, Alexander. You just made a new enemy._

**ooOoo**

"The issue on the table," said Washington, gazing at the cabinet members seated around him. "France is on the verge of war with England. Do we provide aid and troops to our French allies, or do we stay out of it? Remember, my decision on this matter is not subject to congressional approval. The only person you have to convince is me. Secretary Jefferson, you have the floor, sir."

Jefferson stood up and began to speak in that customary Southern drawl that Alexander had grown to hate so much.

"When we were on death's door, when we were needy

We made a promise. We signed a treaty

We needed money and guns and half a chance – who provided those funds?"

Alexander rolled his eyes as Madison muttered, "France." _Ever so eloquent, James. _Jefferson nodded and continued:

"In return, they didn't ask for land. Only a promise that we'd lend a hand

And stand with them as they fought against oppressors

And revolution is messy but now is the time to stand!"

The cabinet members cheered. Jefferson grinned triumphantly at Alexander.

"Stand with our brothers as they fight against tyranny!

I know that Alexander Hamilton is here and he would rather not have this debate.

I'll remind you that he is _not_ Secretary of State!

He knows nothing of loyalty! Smells like new money,

Dresses like fake royalty…"

_Pretty rich coming from someone dressed in a velvet purple ensemble, _Alexander thought sourly.

"…Desperate to rise above his station! Everything he does betrays the ideals of our nation! Hey, and if you don't know, now you know, Mr. President."

Washington bowed his head politely. "Thank you, Secretary Jefferson. Secretary Hamilton, your response."

He didn't need to tell him twice. Alexander was already speaking.

"You must be out of your _goddamn mind if you think_

The President is gonna bring the nation to the brink

Of meddling in the middle of a military mess, a game of chess

Where France is Queen and Kingless!

We signed a treaty with a King whose head is now in a basket –

Would you like to take it out and ask it?"

He mimed pulling a head out of a basket and pretended to talk to it. "'Should we honor our treaty, King Louis' head? 'Uh…do whatever you want, I'm super dead.'"

Washington held up his hand. "Enough," he said. He turned to Jefferson. "Hamilton is right."

Jefferson gaped. "Mr. President –"

"We're too fragile to start another fight."

"But, sir, do we not fight for freedom?"

Alexander clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from bursting into hysterical laughter. Jefferson owned _an entire plantation of slaves_, and here he was talking about freedom!

Washington seemed to think the same way. "Sure, when the French figure out who's going to lead them."

"The people are leading!"

"_The people are rioting_. There's a difference. Frankly, it's a little disquieting you would let your ideals blind you to reality. Hamilton."

"Sir?" said Alexander.

"Draft a statement of neutrality."

As Washington left, Jefferson snarled, "Did you forget Lafayette?"

Alexander looked at him. "What?"

"Have you an ounce of regret? You accumulate debt, you accumulate power, yet in their hour of need you forget."

Those words stung more than Alexander would have liked to admit. No, he hadn't forgotten Lafayette. But America had just emerged from a war, their military was weak, and they lacked the funds to fix it. If they fought with France and lost…

He shuddered.

"Lafayette's a smart man, he'll be fine," he said. He didn't know whether he was trying to convince Jefferson or himself. "And before he was your friend, he was mine. If we try to fight in every revolution in the world, we never stop. Where do we draw the line?"

Jefferson scoffed. "So quick-witted."

"Alas, I admit it."

"I bet you were quite a lawyer."

"My defendants got acquitted."

"Yeah? Well, someone oughtta remind you –"

"_What?_"

"You're nothing without Washington behind you."

At that moment Washington called, "Hamilton!"

Alexander turned. Jefferson smirked.

"Daddy's calling."

Alexander clenched his fists, and with one last glare at his nemesis, exited the room.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25: Washington On Your Side**

I stood from my seat and moved across the room to Jefferson, following his gaze to Alexander's retreating form.

"It must be nice, it must be nice…to have Washington on your side," I commented matter-of-factly.

He turned to look at me, and his expression was full of fury. "Every action has its equal, opposite reactions," he said. "Thanks to Hamilton, our cabinet's fractured into factions. Try not to crack under the stress, we're breaking down like fractions. We smack each other in the press, and we don't print retractions."

I nodded encouragingly as he went on,

"I get no satisfaction witnessing his fits of passion. The way he primps and preens and dresses like the pits of fashion. Our poorest citizens, our farmers, live ration to ration as Wall Street robs 'em blind in search of chips to cash in.

"This prick is asking for someone to bring him to task

Somebody give me some dirt on this vacuous mass so we can at last unmask him

I'll pull the trigger on him, someone load the gun and cock it

While we were all watching, he got Washington in his pocket."

"It must be nice," I repeated, "it must be nice, to have Washington on your side."

To my pleasure, he began to echo the words along with me. "It must be nice, it must be nice, to have Washington on your side."

"So he's doubled the size of the government," interjected Madison, who had been silent throughout this whole ordeal until now. "Wasn't the trouble with much of our previous government size?"

I nodded. "Look in his eyes!"

Jefferson's lip curled in disgust. "See how he lies."

"Follow the scent of his enterprise."

"Centralizing national credit and making American credit competitive…"

"If we don't stop it, we aid and abet it."

Jefferson snapped his fingers. "I have to resign."

"Somebody has to stand up for the South!"

"Somebody has to stand up to his mouth," I said. To be perfectly honest, I could've done it myself, but why do it when I had two of Alexander's most formidable opponents to do it for me?

"If there's a fire you're trying to douse, you can't put it out from inside the house –

I'm in the cabinet. I am complicit in watchin' him grabbin' at power and kiss it

If Washington isn't gonna listen to disciplined dissidents, this is the difference:

_This kid is out!_"

Jefferson went to his desk and took out a sheet of parchment and some ink. He was writing his resignation form, I presumed.

"_This immigrant isn't somebody we chose_

_This immigrant's keeping us all on our toes_

_Let's show these Federalists who they're up against!_

_SOUTHERN MOTHERFUCKING DEMOCRATIC REPUBLICANS!_

_Let's follow the money and see where it goes_

_Because every second the Treasury grows_

_If we follow the money and see where it leads,_

_Get in the weeds, look for the seeds of Hamilton's misdeeds!_"

I smiled. I was fed up with being denied constantly by Washington. I was done with Alexander always standing in my way. I could finally get what I wanted, _without _any obstacles or roadblocks. _Without _having to take three steps backward for every one step I took forward.

If we could prove that Alexander was using insider information from the Treasury Department to engage in speculation, we could get him out of office.

_We won't be invisible. We won't be denied. Still…it must be nice…it must be nice…_

_To have Washington on your side._


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26: One Last Time/I Know Him**

"Mr. President, you asked to see me?" said Alexander as he stepped into the room.

Washington's back was turned, and his head was bowed. "I know you're busy," he said. He sounded distracted, almost absentminded.

"What do you need, sir?" When there was no response, Alexander asked again, "Sir?"

Washington finally turned around. He appeared to have been reading a paper which was clutched in his hand. "I want to give you a word of warning."

Alexander was perplexed. _Warning? About what? _"Sir, I don't know what you heard, but whatever it is, Jefferson started it," he said, only half-joking.

"Thomas Jefferson resigned this morning," said Washington, holding up the paper.

The humor dissolved from Alexander's eyes instantly. "You're kidding."

"I need a favor."

"Whatever you say, sir, Jefferson will pay for his behavior."

"Shh. _Talk less_."

"I'll use the press, I'll write under a pseudonym, you'll see what I can do to him –"

"I need you to draft an address."

"Yes! He resigned. You can finally speak your mind!"

"No. He's stepping down so he can run for President."

"_Ha_! Good luck defeating you, sir."

"I'm stepping down, I'm not running for President."

Alexander stared at Washington as though he'd never seen him before. "I'm sorry, what?" he whispered, dumbfounded.

Washington softened at his expression. "One last time," he said, reaching over his desk to pour two glasses of brandy, "relax, have a drink with me. One last time…let's take a break tonight, and then we'll teach them how to say goodbye." He handed a glass to Alexander, who took it uncertainly, and raised his own. "You and I."

"No, sir, why?"

"I want to talk about neutrality."

"Sir, with Britain and France on the verge of war, is this the best time…?"

"I want to warn against partisan fighting."

"But –"

"_Pick up a pen, start writing_. I want to talk about what I have learned, the hard-won wisdom I have earned…"

Alexander's heart hammered in his chest. Washington couldn't step down. He _couldn't_. It would ruin him. It was just as Jefferson had said: _You're nothing without Washington behind you_. "As far as the people are concerned," – _As far as _I _am concerned _– "you have to serve! You could continue to serve!"

"_No_! One last time, the people will hear from me. _One last time_. And if we get this right, we're going to teach them how to say goodbye…you and I!"

Alexander took a deep breath. "Mr. President, they will say you're weak."

"No. They will see we're strong."

"Your position is so unique," Alexander tried again.

"So I'll use it to move them along."

"Why do you have to say goodbye?"

"If I say goodbye, the nation learns to move on. It outlives me when I'm gone. Like the scripture says,

'_Everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree_

_And no one shall make them afraid._'

They'll be safe in the nation we've made."

Washington sighed contentedly, and his eyes became distant as he said,

"I want to sit under my own vine and fig tree,

A moment alone in the shade. At home in this nation we've made…

One last time."

Alexander bowed his head in acceptance. "_One last time_," he echoed. Though it would no doubt be difficult for him to see Washington leave, he knew why the man had to do it. Resigning after his second term would teach the nation a valuable lesson, and wasn't that what they'd been fighting for this whole time? If there was anything the war had taught Alexander, it was sacrifice. They all had to lose something for the greater good.

With a heavy but determined heart, he began to work on Washington's Farewell Address.

**ooOoo**

_Though, in reviewing the incidents of my administration, I am unconscious of intentional error, I am nevertheless too sensible of my defects not to think it probable that I may have committed many errors. I shall also carry with me the hope that my country will view them with indulgence; and that, after forty-five years of my life dedicated to its service with an upright zeal, the faults of incompetent abilities will be consigned to oblivion, as I myself must soon be to the mansions of rest._

_I anticipate with pleasing expectation that retreat in which I promise myself to realize the sweet enjoyment of partaking, in the midst of my fellow citizens, the benign influence of good laws under a free government – the ever-favorite object of my heart – and the happy reward, as I trust, of our mutual cares, labors, and dangers…_

_One last time._

Alexander looked up, searching Washington's eyes for approval, and the former President nodded his consent. Capping his inkwell and handing the paper to Washington, he went to the front of the office and opened the door.

Washington was about to step out when Alexander said, "Sir, wait."

Washington looked at him.

Alexander dropped his gaze uncertainly, and then slowly, hesitantly, he walked forward and wrapped the older man in an embrace.

Washington was stunned. For a moment, his arms just hung limply at his sides, but then he returned the gesture with a warmth unlike anything Alexander had felt before. The man without a child clutched to the child without a father with all his might, and it seemed as if a lifetime of pain, hardship, and shared ambitions passed between them before they finally let go of each other.

Washington's eyes were glistening with tears. He smiled.

"Teach them how to say goodbye," Alexander told him. He hated how his voice trembled slightly at the last word.

Washington nodded. "You and I." Reaching out, he gave Alexander one last squeeze on the shoulder before turning to leave.

_George Washington's going home. _Alexander watched as his general, one of his closest friends, and the man who had been more of a father to him than his father ever was, departed his life forever.

**ooOoo**

Across the sea, in England, King George was laughing his head off at who was going to be the next President.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27: The Adams Administration/We Know**

How does Hamilton, the short-tempered protean creator of the Coast Guard, founder of the New York Post, ardently abuse his cabinet post and destroy his reputation?

Welcome, folks, _to the Adams administration_.

Jefferson's the runner-up, which makes him the Vice President. And now, with Washington out of office, Alexander had no one to help him.

It wasn't long before he himself was fired by President Adams, getting called a "Creole bastard" in the process. And, to make matters worse, he even _published _his response:

_An open letter to the fat, arrogant, anti-charismatic national embarrassment known as President John Adams._

I swallowed. This was not going to end well.

_The man's irrational – he claims that I'm in league with Britain in some vast international intrigue._

_BITCH, PLEASE._

_You wouldn't know what I'm doing. You're always going berserk, but you never show up to work. Give my regards to Abigail next time you write about my lack of moral compass – at least I'm doing my job up in this rumpus._

_The line is behind me, I crossed it again, well, the President lost it again. Such a rough life, better run to your wife, the boss is in Boston _again. _Let me ask you a question: who sits at your desk when you're in Massachusetts? They were calling you a dick back in seventy-six and you haven't done anything new since! You're a nuisance with no sense – you'll die of irrelevance. Go ahead, you can call my the devil. You aspire to my level. You aspire to _malevolence_! Say "hi" to the Jeffersons, and the spies all around me, maybe they can confirm: I don't care if I kill my career with this letter, I'm confining you to one term:_

_YOU FAT MOTHERFUCKER._

I stared at the pamphlet in awe. Beside me, Madison and Jefferson shifted uneasily.

"Hamilton is out of control," I whispered.

Madison's eyes, though troubled, shone with opportunity. "This is great. He's out of power, he holds no office, and he just destroyed President John Adams, the only other significant member of his party."

Jefferson nodded. "It's true. Hamilton is so mortified by the loss of his influence that his language has diminished to that of an uneducated street brawler. He's a host unto himself. As long as he can hold a pen, he's a threat." He held up a stack of papers and grinned. "Let's let him know what we know."

**ooOoo**

Alexander looked up from his endless supply of papers as we entered his office, eyeing us warily.

"Mr. Vice President. Mr. Madison." His gaze fell upon me, and a fresh wave of hostility entered his tone. "_Senator Burr_. What is this?"

"We have the cheque stubs from separate accounts," said Jefferson, holding up his papers for Alexander to see. "Almost a thousand dollars, paid in different amounts."

"To a Mr. James Reynolds, way back in 1791," Madison added.

Alexander's eyes bulged at the name _James Reynolds_, but he caught himself and quickly reassumed an expression of calm dignity. "Is that what you have? Are you done?"

"You are uniquely situated by virtue of your position –"

"Though 'virtue' is not a word I would apply to this situation," said Jefferson, sneering.

"– To seek financial gain, to stray from your sacred mission…"

"And the evidence suggests you've engaged in _speculation_."

"_An immigrant embezzling our government funds!_" I exclaimed. "I can almost see the headline – your career is done. I hoped you saved some money for your daughter and sons!"

"_You best g'wan run back where ya come from!_"

Alexander stared at us. For once, he could not find the words to refute our charges, I thought in amusement. But then he let out a hollow, contemptuous laugh.

"_Ha! _You don't even know what you're asking me to confess."

_Confess! _So he _was _hiding something, after all!

"You have nothing," he continued. "I don't have to tell you anything at all! Unless…"

He trailed off pensively, prompting me to ask, "_Unless_?"

He took a deep breath. "If I can prove that I never broke the law, do you promise not to tell another soul what you saw?"

I raised a brow, puzzled. What could he possibly have to say for himself? "No one else was in the room where it happened."

"Is that a 'yes?'"

Madison, Jefferson, and I all looked at one another, then nodded in agreement. "Um…yes."

Alexander handed me a paper. Upon closer examination, I saw that it was a letter.

Clearing my throat, I began to read it aloud:

"_Dear sir, I hope this letter finds you in good health, and in a prosperous enough position to put wealth in the pockets of people like me: down on their luck. You see, that was my wife who you decided to _–"

I quickly stopped reading, my cheeks flushing. Beside me, Madison's mouth dropped open, and Jefferson let out an audible "_What?_"

Alexander fidgeted with his sleeve, the way he always did when he was nervous. "She courted me. Escorted me to bed, and when she had me in a corner, that's when Reynolds extorted me for a sordid fee. I paid him quarterly. I may have mortally wounded my prospects, but my papers are orderly!"

I had to blink several times before I could comprehend what he'd just said. Alexander had an _affair_? And on top of that, he was _blackmailed_ for it?

I opened my mouth to speak, but he was already rummaging through his desk drawers at a feverish pace, pulling out _even more papers than I thought physically possible_, talking all the while,

"As you can see, I kept a record of every cheque in my checkered history – check it again against your list and see consistency. I never spent a _cent_ that wasn't mine. You sent the dogs after my scent, that's _fine_…"

Whatever calmness his face may have shown was betrayed by his eyes. They were wild and frightened, and for a moment I saw not a grown man but a little boy finally forced to confess to a crime he'd been hiding.

"Yes, I have reasons for shame! But I have not committed treason and sullied my good name. As you can see, I have done nothing to provoke legal action." He finished his dizzying revelation with a rhetorical question: "Are my answers to your _satisfaction_?"

I was absolutely speechless. My mind was spinning and thoughts were flying around in my head in a daze.

"My God," Jefferson breathed.

Madison, deciding that this was our cue to leave, said, "Gentlemen, let's go."

Alexander tapped his foot. "So?"

"The people won't know what we know," they said.

Alexander turned to me. "Burr."

I looked at him.

"How do I know you won't use this against me the next time we go toe-to-toe?"

I shrugged. "Alexander, rumors only grow," I said, smiling, which only served to psyche him out even more. "And we both know what we know…"

Keeping my expression enigmatic, I left him, feeling the heat of his eyes on my back as I did so.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28: Hurricane**

Alexander stared after Burr's retreating form, utterly conflicted.

_In the eye of a hurricane, there is quiet. For just a moment. A yellow sky._

He clenched his fists, hating Burr more by the second. _Why can't you just give a clear answer? _he thought angrily. _You act like you're a damned oracle or something!_

Burr was going to blackmail him, he was sure. And as for Jefferson and Madison, he didn't trust them, either. Oh, what had he been _thinking_, telling them about the affair! Knowing them, they were probably already on their way to leak the letters he'd exchanged with James and Maria.

In this situation, he couldn't help but conjure up an image from his childhood.

_When I was seventeen, a hurricane destroyed my town. I didn't drown. I couldn't seem to die._

_I wrote my way out. Wrote everything down far as I could see._

He remembered that day as vividly as if it were happening right now. The howling winds, the rising waters, the silky sand beneath his feet, the bodies everywhere…all of it.

_I wrote my way out. I looked up, and the town had its eyes on me._

And it did, indeed. The poem he had intended to write as a letter to his father became the talk of nearly every house, every street, every corner. There was no one in the town who didn't know of Alexander Hamilton, the heroic boy whose phenomenal writing skills had enabled him to evade a storm. And it had inspired something in them, something foreign to him:

_Kindness._

_They passed a plate around. Total strangers. Moved to kindness by my story._

_Raised enough for me to book passage on a ship that was New York bound…_

Where would he be without that kindness? That _admiration_? Certainly not here. If he hadn't written that poem, he would still be in St. Croix, or whatever was left of it, working as a clerk behind a desk.

_I wrote my way out of hell. I wrote my way to revolution. I was louder than the crack in the bell. I wrote Eliza love letters until she fell. I wrote about the Constitution and defended it well._

_And in the face of ignorance and resistance, I wrote financial systems into existence. And when my prayers to God were met with indifference, _I _picked up a pen. _I _wrote my own deliverance._

_In the eye of a hurricane, there is quiet. For just a moment. A yellow sky._

All those times, _he _had been the storm. Now, he was the one fighting it.

_I was twelve when my mother died. She was holding me. We were sick and she was holding me… I couldn't seem to die._

All at once, panic seized him in its wrought-iron grip. He knew what he had to do, but he wasn't sure if he had the strength to do it. But there was no alternative. He had to confess.

_I'll write my way out. Write everything down, far as I can see._

Every part, every sordid detail of the affair would have to be reported in order to clear his name of any financial charges.

_I'll write my way out. Overwhelm them with honesty._

_This is the eye of the hurricane. This is the only way I can protect my legacy._

Paranoia can make people do strange things. In the end, it was paranoia that drove him to do it. It was paranoia, and fear of his enemies, that put the quill of damnation in his hand.

With a few strokes, it was done.

He took a deep breath, and sent it off to be published.

_The Reynolds Pamphlet._


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29: The Reynolds Pamphlet**

_The Reynolds Pamphlet._

_Have you read this?_

_Alexander Hamilton had a torrid affair…and he wrote it down right there!_

He tried his best to block out the whispers as he focused on his work. But the words still haunted him.

_"__The charge against me is a connection with one James Reynolds, for purposes of improper speculation…my real crime is an amorous connection with his wife…for a considerable time…with his knowing consent…"_

_"__I had frequent meetings with her, most of them at my own house…Mrs. Hamilton, with our children, being absent on a visit to her father…"_

He shuddered.

Suddenly the door slammed open, and in came Jefferson, laughing his head off and waving his copy of the pamphlet triumphantly.

"_Never goin' to be President now!_" he cried, practically dancing with glee. And with a manner that was nearly _unbecoming_, he threw himself on Alexander's desk.

Alexander could do nothing but watch as his nemesis rejoiced in his helplessness like a small child.

_Never goin' to be President now!_

_Never goin' to be President now!_

_Never goin' to be President now!_

_That's one less thing to worry about! That's one less thing to worry about!_

And, as if God took endless joy in making him suffer, _Angelica _appeared in the doorway, clutching a handful of suitcases and looking furious.

"I came as soon as I heard," she said, and her tone actually sent a shiver of fear up Alexander's spine.

_All the way from London? _he thought incredulously. _Damn…_

"Angelica! Thank God someone who understands what I'm struggling here to do," he said, trying to appeal to her good graces.

She fixed him with a stony glare. "I'm not here for you."

He paled.

"I know my sister like I know my own mind. You will never find anyone as trusting or as kind. I love my sister more than anything in this life. I will choose her happiness over mine every time!

"Put what we had aside

I'm standing at her side

You could never be satisfied

God, I hope you're satisfied!"

She spat those last few words at him in disgust, and then, ignoring Jefferson and all measures of propriety in general, struck him hard across the face.

His cheeks flushing from embarrassment and pain from the slap, he tried and failed once more to block out the whispers and jeers, although he knew he deserved it.

_Well, he's never goin' to be President now_

_Well, he's never goin' to be President now_

_Well, he's never goin' to be President now_

_That's one less thing to worry about_

_That's one less thing to worry about!_

He fought back the pathetic excuse, "_at least I was honest with our money_". He had, foolishly, believed that complete and total honesty would be the thing to exonerate him. But it had only served to prove his enemies right, that he _was _a bastard boy born on the wrong side of the blanket, that he _was _a scheming politician with a penchant for running his mouth off, and that he was, just like his mother had been, an adulterer.

And in his haste, in his need to defend himself, he had forgotten about the person – the _woman _– who would pay the ultimate price for his brashness.

His wife.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30: Burn**

As he crept inside the house after dark, he hoped desperately that she wasn't awake. He couldn't face her. Not now. Not after what he'd done…

But alas, as fate would have it, he found her sitting at the fireplace with a stack of letters beside her, her back turned to him.

He froze. Those were _his _letters.

"I saved every letter you wrote me," Eliza said. Her voice was dangerously low, as it always was when she was angry or hurt. "From the moment I read them, I knew you were mine. You said you were mine. I thought you were mine."

Dear God, how he hated this. He could have handled it if she'd yelled at him. Or thrown something at him. Or even _spit _at him. But this…this was too much. She sounded so wounded and vulnerable and _helpless _that the dagger of shame in him was twisted so painfully he thought he might collapse, weeping, at her feet.

And no, despite popular opinion, Alexander Hamilton was not a shameless man. Nothing could describe the guilt he felt at choosing public service over his wife. Over his _children_. He had been arrogant, too caught up in his work and his desire to prove himself. And now he was suffering the consequences.

"Do you know what Angelica said, when we saw your first letter arrive? She said, "_Be careful with that one, love – he will do what it takes to survive_."

Had Angelica known, then, back at the winter's ball, that he was too ambitious for his own good? Had she known that his family would never be enough for him? Had she known that he would always be pining for more? If so, she should have told him. If he had known he was going to cheat on Eliza, he wouldn't have married her.

Eliza sighed, almost wistfully, and finally turned to face him. "You and your words flooded my senses." Her face was streaked with tears, and another stab of pain went through him as he remembered the days of their courtship. They were young back then. Young and innocent. "Your sentences left me defenseless. You built me palaces out of paragraphs. You built _cathedrals_."

She picked up one of the letters and gazed at it, her expression torn. "I'm re-reading the letters you wrote me. I'm searching and scanning for answers in every line, for some kind of sign, and when you were mine…the world seemed to burn."

_When you were mine. _Those words broke him. Did he not belong to her anymore? He tried to tell himself that she still loved him, that this could be fixed. But deep down, he knew the truth.

Eliza now stooped down to retrieve a small, crumpled ball of paper from the floor and opened it to reveal the pitiful remains of the _Reynolds Pamphlet_. The symbolism struck him – for that was their relationship now, crushed and in tatters.

"You published the letters she wrote you. You told the whole world how you brought this _girl _into our bed. In clearing your name, you have ruined our lives.

"Do you know what Angelica said, when she read what you'd done?

She said,

"_You've married an Icarus. He has flown too close to the sun._"

You and your words, obsessed with your legacy

Your sentences border on senseless

And you are paranoid in every paragraph

How they perceive you

You, you, _you!_"

She sounded like Angelica when she said that. Disgusted. Injured. Betrayed. It was as if she didn't even know him anymore.

And he couldn't blame her. For he didn't even know himself anymore.

Eliza turned back to the fireplace. "I'm erasing myself from the narrative," she whispered. "Let future historians wonder how Eliza reacted when you broke her heart." And she dropped the letter she was holding, allowing it to be devoured by the flames.

_No! _Shouting in alarm, he rushed forward in an effort to save it, but only managed to earn himself more pain as his hands were scorched by the fire. Jerking his hands away, he could do nothing but watch as Eliza threw down not one, not two, but the whole _stack_ of letters, shouting, "You have torn it all apart! I'm watching it _burn_!"

_My very dear Eliza, I have told you, and I told you truly that I love you too much…you engross my thoughts too entirely to allow me to think of anything else…_

_Indeed Betsey, I am entirely changed…changed for the worse, I confess…lost to all the public and splendid passions and absorbed in you…Amiable woman!...nature has given you a right to be esteemed, to be cherished, to be beloved…but she has given you no right to monopolize a man, whom, to you I may say, she has endowed with qualities to be extensively useful to society…_

_You not only employ my mind all day…but you intrude upon my sleep…I meet you in every dream…and when I wake I cannot close my eyes again for ruminating on your sweetness…._

_You have made me disrelish everything that used to please me, and have rendered me as restless and unsatisfied with all about me, as if I was the inhabitant of another world…_

_I believe in my soul you are an enchantress…but I have tried in vain, if not to break, at least to weaken the charm…and you maintain your empire in spite of all my efforts and after every new one I make to draw myself from my allegiance, my partial heart still returns and clings to you with increased attachment…._

_A new mistress is supposed to be the best cure for an excessive attachment to an old…if I was convinced of the success of the scheme, I would be tempted to try it…for though it is the pride of my heart to love you it is the torment of it to love you so much, separated as we now are…_

_To drop figures my lovely girl, you become dearer to me every moment…I am more and more unhappy and impatient under the hard necessity that keeps me from you, and yet the prospect lengthens as I advance…_

It was gone. All of it. Just like that. Twenty long years of marriage, written sentiments, and unalterable affections destroyed, consumed by the cruel fire of infidelity. Now there was nothing left to do but confront the traitor himself.

And that's exactly what she did. Whirling around, Eliza glared at Alexander with a malice he hadn't thought she was capable of, and declared at the top of her lungs,

"_The world has no right to my heart!_

_The world has no place in our bed!_

_They don't get to know what I said!_

_I'm burning the memories –_

_Burning the letters that might have redeemed you!_"

He was forced to take a few steps back, and when she had him cornered against the wall as Maria Reynolds once had him cornered, she opened the door and thrust him out.

He swallowed back his incredulity. She was asking him – no, _telling _him – to leave. But he had so much to say to her. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was. He wanted to tell her he loved her. He wanted to fix everything.

But she wouldn't have it.

"You forfeit all rights to my heart!" she cried, her voice shaking. "You _forfeit _the place in our bed!" When he didn't move, she took the liberty of chasing him out herself. "You'll sleep in your office instead – with only the memories of when you were _mine!_"

When she had chased him far enough down the block, but he could still hear her, she said, with a chilling finality,

"_I hope that you burn._"

Then she turned, walked back the way she'd come, and went into the house, closing the door behind her with a soft _click_.

He stood staring at the door for a long time. Then, hating himself, he went back to his office, for there was nothing left to do for him but wallow in his own misery.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31: Blow Us All Away**

_Meet the latest graduate of King's College._

_I probably shouldn't brag, but dag, I amaze and astonish_

_The scholars say I got the same virtuosity and brains as my pops –_

_The ladies say my brain's not where the resemblance stops._

_I'm only nineteen but my mind is older,_

_Gotta be my own man, like my father but bolder._

_I shoulder his legacy with pride –_

_I used to hear him say, that someday_

_I would blow us all away_

Philip Hamilton was a bright, sunny young man who always wanted to be just like his father. Smart, like his father. Determined, like his father. _Brave_, like his father.

So when someone insulted his father, it was as if they insulted _him_.

Now he was looking for a man named George Eacker, who, just last week, had spoken ill of Alexander, openly blaming him for the XYZ Affair and accusing him of abusing his position as Inspector General under President Adams.

And Philip was not about to let that slide.

Announcing it so that all the world could hear, he said, "Everyone, I'm looking for a Mr. George Eacker! He made a speech last week, our Fourth of July speaker. He disparaged our father's legacy in front of a crowd. I can't have that, I'm making my father proud."

The corners of his mouth lifted in a triumphant smile when one of the women walking down the street turned toward him. "I saw him just up Broadway a couple of blocks," she said. "He was going to see a play."

"Well, I'll go visit his box."

The woman coyly batted her eyelashes at him and pressed a dramatic hand to her forehead. "_God_, you're a _fox_."

He winked. "And you look pretty good in your frock – how about when I get back, we both strip down to our socks?"

The woman's eyes widened. "Okay!" she squealed in delight.

Philip grinned, thrilled at the prospect of winning over a girl, and resumed his stroll down the street, this time toward Broadway.

It wasn't long before he found Eacker at the Park Theater, sitting in a box overlooking the stage and watching a production of _The West Indian_.

"Psst! George!" he called. "_George_!"

Eacker's head turned toward him, startled. "Shh! I'm trying to watch the show!"

Philip crossed his arms. "You should've watched your mouth before you talked about my father, though!"

Eacker rolled his eyes. "I didn't say anything that wasn't true. Your father's a scoundrel, and so, it seems, are you."

Philip gaped. "_It's like that?_"

"Yeah, I don't fool around. I'm not your little schoolboy friends –"

Philip's cheeks burned hot with fury. He was not a child in need of chastisement! "See you on the dueling ground! That is, unless you wanna step outside and go now!"

With great reluctance, Eacker complied. "I know where to find you. Piss off, I'm watching this show now."

_Yeah, that's what I thought. _But poor Philip had no idea what he was getting himself into.

**ooOoo**

Alexander was absently reading a book, his neck and back aching from the hard wood of the office floor that he'd become so accustomed to sleeping on. For once, he didn't feel like working. What was the point of it, anyway? Ever since Eliza had kicked him out of the house…

His thoughts were interrupted when a loud knock sounded at his door, followed by tromping footsteps that could only belong to a troubled teenager.

"Pops, if you had only heard the shit he said about you!" Philip exclaimed. "I doubt you would've let it slide, and _I _was not about to –"

Alexander put his book down and gazed at his son wearily. "_Slow down_," he said, a lesson he'd learned the hard way.

"I came to ask you for advice. This is my very first duel, they don't exactly cover this subject in boarding school."

Alexander's eyes widened. Philip had gotten into a duel? Over _him_? This was unacceptable. His honor, or lack of it, did not deserve to be defended.

"Did your friends attempt to negotiate a peace?" he asked, hoping the answer was 'yes'.

"He refused to apologize," said Philip. "We had to let the peace talks cease."

"Where is this happening?"

"Across the river in Jersey. Everything is legal in New Jersey."

Alexander sighed. His son reminded him so much of himself. "Alright. So this is what you're going to do: stand there like a man until Eacker is in front of you. When the time comes, fire your weapon in the air. This will put an end to the whole affair."

Philip tilted his head in confusion. "But what if he decides to shoot? Then I'm a goner."

"No." Alexander had been in plenty of duels before, and none of them had ever come to the use of guns. He doubted that Eacker would be any different. Besides, firing at someone in a duel was a sin. "He'll follow suit if he's truly a man of honor. To take someone's life, that is something you can't shake." A pang of guilt went through him as he remembered Eliza. "Philip, your mother can't take another heartbreak."

Philip dropped his gaze. "Father…"

Alexander went to his desk, opened a secret drawer, and pulled out the two pistols he only ever kept for emergencies. "Promise me. You don't want this young man's blood on your conscience."

"Okay, I promise."

"Come back home when you're done." He handed Philip the pistols and gave him a reassuring pat on his shoulder. "Take my guns. Be smart. Make me proud, son."

Philip looked up at him and beamed, for that was all he ever wanted to do – make his father proud. So, at a cheerful pace, he took the pistols, hugged Alexander, and went out the door.

Alexander told himself that he didn't need to worry. Philip was a grown man now.

Everything was going to be fine.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32: Stay Alive (Reprise)**

_Sir, haven't you heard? Your son…_

_Negotiations ended, and Philip was…_

_They didn't even get to ten before…_

Philip was shot. But no. It couldn't be. Everything was just fine an hour ago. They had _just spoken to each other an hour ago_. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't.

_Alexander, you stupid bastard, what were you thinking?!_

"_Where's my son?!_" he cried, shaking from head to foot.

The doctor laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, attempting to calm him. "Mr. Hamilton, they brought him in a half an hour ago. He lost a lot of blood on the way over –"

But Alexander wasn't listening. Shoving past the doctor, he tried to make his way toward Philip's room. "Is he alive?" he asked, dreading the answer.

The doctor caught him by the arms and forced him back. "Yes." Alexander sighed in relief. "But you have to understand – the bullet entered just above his hip and lodged in his right arm."

The bottom of Alexander's stomach fell away. He knew, even then, that Philip was not going to make it. "Can…can I see him? Please."

The doctor looked at him with a somber expression. "I'm doing everything I can, but the wound was already infected when he arrived."

Motioning for Alexander to follow him, he led the way toward Philip's room.

His son was lying on his back on a hospital table, clutching his abdomen, his features scrunched up in pain, with nothing to comfort him, nothing to keep him warm. Alexander thought, perhaps ridiculously, that he ought to fetch him a blanket.

"Philip," he breathed, for that was all he could say in that moment.

Philip's head turned toward him. A thin stream of blood ran down his mouth, and his eyes rolled, but he smiled. "Pa."

Alexander's heart broke. Kneeling beside Philip as if he were some object of worship, he clutched at his son's hand.

"I did exactly as you said, Pa," his son murmured. His voice was terribly weak. It frightened Alexander. "I held my head up high."

Once again, the shame welled up inside him, threatening to overtake him. "I know, I know," he tried to coax his son. "You did everything just right."

"Even before we got to ten…I was aiming for the sky."

"I know." He placed a finger over Philip's bloodied lips. "_Shh. _Save your strength and stay alive…"

Suddenly the door slammed open. Alexander, taking his eyes off his son for the briefest instant, saw, to his shock and dismay, his wife.

"Eliza," he exclaimed.

His wife rushed in, ignoring him entirely, and went around to Philip's side. "Is he breathing, is he going to survive this?!" she demanded to no one in particular. At last, she whirled to face Alexander. "Who did this? _Alexander, did you know?!_"

Alexander, utterly terrified, didn't answer her.

The horrible silence was ended when Philip croaked, "Mom, I'm so sorry for forgetting what you taught me."

Eliza turned toward him, and her eyes immediately became full of tenderness. "My son…"

"We played piano."

"I taught you piano."

"You would put your hands on mine."

Eliza smiled in fond remembrance. "You changed the melody every time."

"I would always change the line."

"Shh. I know, I know."

"I would always change the line."

Philip's voice broke, and Eliza took his hand while Alexander supported his head and shoulders. Quietly, they began to count together in French, as they used to do when Philip was a child:

"_Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf._"

Philip, now delirious, repeated after them. "_Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six..._"

He didn't get to finish. He was dead.

Eliza screamed.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33: It's Quiet Uptown**

They stood staring at Philip's body for a long while, feeling nothing but shock and disbelief. Alexander was in a daze, halfway between reality and some dreamworld, until Eliza's agonized wail, long and piercing, jolted him back to reality.

His wife threw herself over their son, sobs wracking her delicate form, and Alexander, wanting to comfort her, reached out a hand to touch her.

She jerked away from him, utterly disgusted, and it ripped a dagger through his already bleeding heart.

She didn't need him.

When Philip was finally taken away, and they had shed enough tears to fill the Hudson, they moved uptown, in a feeble attempt to get away from the tumult of public life.

It was quiet.

Eerily, _unnaturally _quiet.

Eliza stayed shut up in the house, from the wee hours of the morning to late at night. She did not eat or drink.

Alexander was left to walk the streets, alone.

People talked. Whispered amongst themselves. Because for once, the great Alexander Hamilton, renowned for his brilliant mind and mastery of language, was speechless.

_If you see him in the street, walking by himself, talking to himself, have pity._

He moaned in grief and rage. It was his fault. All his fault. If he hadn't sent Philip off to that _fucking _duel, none of this would have happened. And Eliza –

A fresh flood of tears ran down his face.

He had no friends here, no one to talk to. He went to church on Sundays with the children, of course, but he had never really been a religious man. So he did the only thing he could.

He talked to Philip.

People thought he was crazy. Maybe he was. But he didn't care. They had _no idea _what it was like to lose a child.

For losing a child is like losing a part of yourself.

Another moan escaped him, low and pitiful. "Philip, you would like it uptown," he croaked. "It's quiet uptown."

_He is working through the unimaginable._

_His hair has gone gray. He passes every day. They say he walks the length of the city._

"You knock me out, I fall apart!"

_Can you imagine?_

The nights were even worse than the days, if such a thing were possible. Eliza wouldn't speak to him, let alone spare him a glance. Despite the fact that they were living in the same house again, they were more distant than they'd ever been.

But Alexander wasn't giving up on her.

One night, while she was lying in bed, he came into her room to check on her. To his despair, the plate of food he'd left beside her earlier in the day was untouched.

"Eliza," he murmured. "You must eat, my darling. Or your health will fail."

She didn't answer. Rolling onto her side, she covered her face with a pillow and turned her back on him.

He was silent for a long moment, wondering how he could possibly put his feelings into words. Then it came to him.

"_Look at where we are_," he said, echoing the words she had spoken to him so many years ago. "_Look at where we started_. I know I don't deserve you, Eliza. But hear me out. _That would be enough_."

Again, she didn't answer. But she didn't leave, either. And that told him she was listening.

"If I could spare his life," he continued, slightly encouraged, "if I could trade his life for mine…he'd be standing here right now. And you would smile. And _that would be enough_.

"I don't pretend to know

The challenges we're facing –

I know there's no replacing what we've lost

And you need time.

But I'm not afraid

I know who I married.

Just let me stay here by your side

_That would be enough_."

Those words seemed to have erected the wall of anger between them. Since then, Eliza had permitted him to walk alongside her in the streets. And, for the first time since their estrangement, he felt hopeful.

_If you see him in the street, walking by her side, talking by her side, have pity._

"Eliza, do you like it uptown?" he asked her, trying to make conversation. "It's quiet uptown."

As was the custom, she stared stoically ahead, ignoring him.

_He is trying to do the unimaginable._

_See them walking in the park, long after dark_

_Taking in the sights of the city…_

"Look around, look around, Eliza!"

_They are trying to do the unimaginable._

At last, when they had walked the entire city, and they arrived back at the house, Eliza went into the garden. Alexander followed.

Together they stood there, looking around at the trees, the bushes, the flowers. A few birds chirped overhead, and butterflies flitted about, playing with one another. Bees buzzed, rabbits hopped, and silkworms spun beautiful ornate webs.

It was so…peaceful.

Perhaps it was too peaceful, because Alexander was suddenly filled with a strange impulse. Stooping down, he picked one of the flowers, a beautiful red rose, and looked at Eliza.

She looked back at him. For once, there was no anger in her gaze, no hostility. Instead, she looked almost…serene.

Clearing away some stray locks of chocolate-brown hair from her face, he tucked the rose behind her ear.

_There are moments that the words don't reach. There's a grace too powerful to name._

He looked away from her, then, the unbearable shame washing over him again. Perhaps he had been too daring, making a gesture like that. He was sure she would never speak to him again.

_We push away what we can never understand. We push away the unimaginable._

Suddenly he felt something brush against his fingertips.

He looked down.

Eliza had taken his hand and was entwining her fingers with his own.

He gave a little gasp as she tilted his face up to look at her, and her eyes were sparkling with tears, and…something more.

_Forgiveness._

"It's quiet uptown," she whispered.

Something within him broke.

He fell at her feet, weeping like a child, grasping her little hand and kissing it. He kissed it until his lips ached, until he could feel them no more, and when it was done his beautiful wife knelt down beside him and wrapped her arms around him.

No, she was not just a _wife _– she was an _angel_.

_Can you imagine?_

And that was when he realized: his legacy, his _calling _– it was not out there. It was _right here_. No one was more deserving of his attention, of his _commitment_, than his family. Oh, how could he have not seen it before? How could he have been so _blind?_

_Forgiveness._

For an eternity they remained in that garden, Alexander sobbing while Eliza held him, wallowing in their shared grief, loss, and love.

_Can you imagine?_

But it was not all lost; for in the midst of their tragedy, there was an opportunity to rebuild their relationship.

To start anew.

_If you see him in the street, walking by her side, talking by her side, have pity…_

_They are going through the unimaginable._


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34: The Election of 1800**

I was, to put it simply, thrilled.

John Adams was defeated (after the Alien and Sedition Acts, no one wanted to go through _that _nightmare of a presidency again – even the Federalists hated him). Now that I had begun to step out of the shadows, and was an ardent abolitionist and supporter of women's rights, people started to take a liking towards me. Occasionally, I switched from the Federalist party to the Republican party to gain more political influence, but overall I was in pretty good shape.

And now I was running against Jefferson.

In my view, it wouldn't be a difficult victory. I had already heard whispers, people saying that Jefferson was too "in love with France" to possibly be fit for office. And with Hamilton out of the picture, it was my job to make sure people voted for _me_.

Hamilton…where was Hamilton? Nobody had seen him in an age. There were rumors that he had retired to private life after the death of his son, soon to become entirely domesticated in the company of his wife and the remaining members of his family. And although I utterly _loathed _his presence, the city streets felt strangely empty without him.

"I like that Aaron Burr," someone whispered, drawing me from my thoughts. "I can't believe we're here with him!"

"He seems approachable…? Like you could grab a beer with him."

I grinned. So far, so good. Walking up to the little group who had spoken, two women and a man, I handed them each a flyer, exclaiming, "It's 1800!" Winking at the ladies, I added, "Tell your husbands, 'vote for Burr!'"

They giggled, and I continued making my way down the street at a cheerful pace. I had never been this light in years. As I passed more and more voters, and handed them more flyers, a familiar call caught my attention.

"Well, if it isn't Aaron Burr, sir!"

My head shot up. "Alexander?" I asked. _What is he doing here?_

His face, usually shining with exuberance, looked worn and gray as he pushed his way through the crowd of voters to stand before me. He was clad in all black, from head to toe, and his auburn hair was shot through with gray. His violet eyes looked duller than I had ever seen them. In short, he looked far older than his forty-six years.

He was still grieving.

Nevertheless, he smiled at me. "You've created quite a stir, sir," he observed.

As I could muster no emotion other than surprise at seeing him, I merely nodded. "I'm going door to door."

Now it was his turn to look surprised. "You're openly campaigning?"

"Sure!"

"That's new."

"Honestly, it's kind of draining."

"Burr?"

I looked at him questioningly. "Sir?"

"Is there anything you wouldn't do?"

"No. I'm chasing what I want." I smiled. "And you know what?"

"What?"

"I learned that from you."

Grinning at his look of absolute shock, I merely patted him on the shoulder and set about going on with my day.

In the end, the result of the Electoral College was a tie, but I had no reason to worry. Jefferson was _far _too zealous toward the French Revolution to appeal to the American people – he would likely destroy our country before protecting its citizens. I was obviously the better choice.

So it caught me completely off-guard when it was announced that I had lost the presidency.

I was strolling down the street, looking around and admiring the fruits of my bustling campaign, when Alexander's lilting, subtle West Indian accent once again rang out through the crowd. I paused, listening, as he chanted for all the world to hear,

"The people are asking to hear my voice

For the country is facing a difficult choice.

And if you were to ask me who I'd promote –

_Jefferson has my vote!_"

I froze, dumbfounded. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. The same Alexander Hamilton, leader of the Federalist party, staunch supporter of slaves' rights, creator of our very own _centralized_ _government_, had voted for _Jefferson_?

"I have never agreed with Jefferson once

We have fought on, like, seventy-five different fronts

But when all is said and all is done,

Jefferson has beliefs. Burr has none."

Everyone gasped. I myself was quivering with awe. No. This wasn't supposed to be happening. _I _was supposed to win. He was supposed to have picked _me_.

No. No…

I returned home in a daze. I didn't understand it. Hamilton, who'd been away for God knows how long, had somehow managed to thwart me in the span of one day. _Again_.

Suddenly I heard laughter to my right, and whirled around. Madison and Jefferson were making their way toward me, slapping each other's backs and looking utterly joyful. I groaned.

"Well, I'll be damned," crowed Madison. "I'll be damned…Hamilton's on your side."

Jefferson cackled, and repeated in a sing-song voice, "_Well, I'll be damned! Well, I'll be damned! _And?"

"You won in a landslide!"

Gritting my teeth so hard I feared they would break, I forced a smile and held out my hand, determined not to let Jefferson's antics get to me. And the only politically expedient thing to do was to congratulate him, anyway. "Congrats on a race well-run," I said. "I did give you a fight."

At my remark, his expression turned from gleeful to sour. "Uh-huh," he said, nonchalantly.

"I look forward to our partnership," I continued, ignoring his sudden change of humor.

"Our partnership?" he echoed.

"As your Vice President."

He chuckled. "Ha! Yeah, right." When I didn't correct him, his brow raised and he looked back at Madison.

"You hear this guy? Man _openly campaigns against me_, talking about, "I look forward to our partnership.""

"It's crazy that the guy who comes in second gets to be Vice President," Madison supplied helpfully.

"Oh, you know what? We can change that. You know why?"

"Why?"

"'Cause I'm the President." He turned to look back at me, and there was an unmistakable malice in his eyes as he said, "Hey, Burr, when you see Hamilton…thank him for the endorsement."


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35: Your Obedient Servant**

_How does Hamilton, an arrogant, immigrant, orphan –_

_Bastard – _

Whoreson _–_

_Somehow endorse Thomas Jefferson, his enemy! A man he's despised since the beginning…_

_Just to keep me from winning?_

I clenched my hands into fists, banging them against the hard wooden desk. Too many times had Hamilton beaten me. Too many times had I been so close to glory, only for him to leap into my path and claim it for himself. Too many times had I been overlooked, dismissed in favor of Hamilton, and now…

This was the final straw.

_I want to be in the room where it happens,_

_The room where it happens,_

_The room where it happens._

_You've kept me from the room where it happens…_

_For the last time._

Hamilton had willfully stopped me from becoming an insider, had _made me lose the Presidency _just to spite me! He was foolish to think that such conduct would come without a price.

Taking a deep breath, I picked up my quill, uncapped the inkwell, and took out a fresh sheet of parchment.

I began to write.

_Dear Alexander,_

_I am slow to anger, but I toe the line as I reckon with the effects of your life on mine. I look back on where I failed, and in every place I checked, the only common thread has been your disrespect._

_Now you call me amoral – a "dangerous disgrace". If you've got something to say, name a time and place. Face to face._

_I have the honor to be your obedient servant,_

_A . Burr._

A short, but succinct note. I nodded satisfactorily, posted it, and waited for the response.

It came almost instantly.

_Mr. Vice President,_

_I am not the reason no one trusts you. No one knows what you believe. I will not equivocate on my opinion – I have always worn it on my sleeve. Even if I said what you think I said, you would need to cite a more specific grievance; here's an itemized list of thirty years of disagreements._

The note was followed by approximately fifteen more sheets of paper. _Sweet Jesus_, I thought, groaning inwardly. Good _God_, he was infuriating!

_I have not been shy. I am just a guy in the public eye trying to do my best for our republic. I don't want to fight, but I won't apologize for doing what's right._

_I have the honor to be your obedient servant,_

_A . Ham._

Snarling nastily, and filled with a peculiar irritation at the way he signed his 'H' at the bottom, I grabbed my quill and wrote another note, this time with a vengeance:

_Careful how you proceed, good man_

_Intemperate indeed, good man_

_Answer for the accusations I lay at your feet, or prepare to bleed, good man!_

_Burr, your grievance is legitimate. I stand by what I said, every bit of it. You stand only for yourself – it's what you do. I can't apologize because it's true._

I snapped. _Then stand, Alexander. Weehawken. Dawn. Guns drawn._

The reply was simple:

_You're on._

I grinned with my teeth. I knew he would say yes. For all the time that I knew him, for all the years we spent together, I knew he could never resist a challenge.

And that would be his downfall.

As usual, I signed my name at the bottom of the page,

_I have the honor to be your obedient servant,_

_A . Burr._

Tomorrow would be Alexander Hamilton's last day on earth.


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36: Best of Wives and Best of Women**

_This letter, my very dear Eliza, will not be delivered to you, unless I shall first have terminated my earthly career; to begin, as I humbly hope from redeeming grace and divine mercy, a happy immortality._

_If it had been possible for me to have avoided the interview, my love for you and my precious children would have been alone a decisive motive. But it was not possible, without sacrifices which would have rendered me unworthy of your esteem. I need not tell you of the pangs I feel, from the idea of quitting you and exposing you to the anguish which I know you would feel. Nor could I dwell on the topic lest –_

He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Alexander, come back to sleep," his wife's sweet, angelic voice called out to him.

Quickly, he grabbed a book off his desk and shoved the letter he'd been writing underneath it, so that she wouldn't see what he'd been working on. The attempt was successful, for Eliza seemed too tired to notice. She was rubbing at her eyes, groggy with sleep, and yawning.

"I have an early meeting out of town," he lied, hoping it didn't sound as unconvincing as it felt.

She frowned. "It's still dark outside."

"I know. I just need to write something down."

"Why do you write like you're running out of time?"

He winced. The question ought not to hurt as much as it did. _Because I _am _running out of time_, he wanted to say, but he kept silent, staring down at his knees. If things went badly tomorrow…

Eliza reached out to him and cupped his cheek with her hand. "Come back to bed. That would be enough," she urged, oblivious to his sudden distress.

He closed his eyes, melting into her touch. "I'll be back before you know I'm gone," he tried to appease her.

"Come back to sleep."

"This meeting's at dawn."

She sighed and removed her hand from his face. "Well, I'm going back to sleep."

She turned to walk back the way she'd come, but was stopped when he caught her soft wrist with his fingers. "Hey."

She looked at him.

His eyes roamed over her beautiful figure: the soft curves of her body; the way her curls, somewhat mussed with sleep, framed her face; her striking black eyes, shining luminously in the candlelight; her milky-white complexion and her adorable little button nose. He felt like he could never look at her enough.

His eyes settled on her face, desperate to take in every detail, every line. Her lips tilted upwards slightly in a quizzical smile, wondering why he was staring at her for so long. His gaze became urgent, hungry. He would never see those lips again, never be able to kiss them again. Her smile, a bright ray of sunshine in his dark world, would never again grace him with its warmth.

A confession formed deep in his chest and rose in the back of his throat. In this moment, looking at her, he was in danger of telling her everything – the letter, Burr's challenge, all of it. He didn't want to leave her, didn't want to spend an eternity in an unknown world without her by his side. He opened his mouth, about to say something, and then closed it.

How could he not accept the duel, when a duel was the very thing he had encouraged his son to do all those years ago?

Instead, he said simply, dropping a kiss to her hand, "Best of wives and best of women."

She smiled at him.


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37: The World Was Wide Enough/Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story**

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine._

There are ten things you need to know.

_Number one._

As planned, we rowed across the Hudson at dawn. My friend, William P. Van Ness, signed on as my –

_Number two._

It wasn't long before Hamilton arrived with his crew: Nathaniel Pendleton and a doctor that he knew.

_Number three._

Hamilton looked around, examining the terrain. I craned my head, attempting to catch his eye, but he refused to look at me. I desperately wanted to know what was happening in his brain at that moment. _Just apologize_, I wanted to tell him. _We have worthier pursuits!_

_Number four._

I watched as he drew first position. His jaw was firm, his eyes decisive. He looked set on something…but what? I was suddenly filled with a panic unlike any I had ever felt before. Was he going to kill me?

_Five._

His fingers smoothed over the silver steel of his pistol barrel and came to rest on the trigger-guard. I swallowed. Then I realized that we were in the same spot his son died. Was that why…

_Six._

…he examined his gun with such rigor? I watched as he methodically fiddled with the trigger.

_Seven._

Confession time, here's what I've got: my fellow soldiers will tell you I'm a terrible shot. Immediately I wanted to slap myself. What was I thinking, getting into this? Hamilton was one of the best marksmen in the city and was freakishly accurate with artillery. If he decided to shoot at me, there was no way he would miss.

_Number eight. Your last chance to negotiate._

Van Ness and Pendleton immediately started towards each other, the former on the offensive and the latter on the defensive. They were both talking loudly, each attempting to persuade the other as to why their reasons for the duel were justified, but I could barely hear them over the blood pounding in my ears.

I snuck another glance at Hamilton, and watched incredulously as he dug inside his waistcoat pocket, pulled out a pair of spectacles, and placed them neatly on his face. He then proceeded to deliberately sight along his pistol, slowly and precisely, to test his aim.

My jaw almost hit the floor as it dawned on me. My suspicions were confirmed; he was going to shoot. Frantically, I grappled for my pistol and shoved on the hair trigger.

_Number nine!_

All thoughts of peace gone from my mind, I quickly counted the paces between me and Hamilton, took ten steps back, and aimed. I was certain of only one thing: _this man will not make an orphan of my daughter._

_Look him in the eye, aim no higher…summon all the courage you require…_

_Then count!_

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine –_

_Number ten, paces, fire!_

**ooOoo**

Time seemed to stop for Alexander Hamilton.

He was vaguely aware of the sound of the wind whistling through the trees, cut through sharply by the _crack _of Burr's gun. For one terrifying moment, everything warped, suspended, and caved in on itself.

Then there was only him, and the bullet.

_I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory._

_Is this where it gets me? On my feet? Several feet ahead of me?_

He stared at it.

_I see it coming. Do I run, fire my gun, or let it be?_

He tried to take a step, to move out of the bullet's trajectory, but found that his feet would not obey him. They stayed rooted to the spot, numb and heavy as lead in their resistance, determined not to let him move no matter how hard he tried.

_There is no beat. No melody._

_Burr. _The name floated across his mind, intensely vibrant yet strangely distant at the same time. _My first friend, my enemy…maybe the last face I ever see._

_If I throw away my shot…is this how you'll remember me?_

_What if this bullet is my legacy?_

_Legacy. _What is a legacy, he wondered. Such a strange word, yet it held so much meaning. It's when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in. It's when you work so hard, and for so long, that before you know it your time is up and because you were so focused on other people's vine and fig trees you forgot to sit under your own.

A _whoosh_ing sound. The bullet loomed ever closer. Again he tried to move out of its path, and again he failed. He didn't want to die…not yet. He still had so much to do. So much to accomplish.

Frantically, he turned his head back, toward the beautiful New York City skyline, shimmering and dancing in the golden light of the rising sun. He wouldn't be there, he realized. He would never set foot in that place again. All the amazing things yet to come, he wouldn't be there to see them happen.

He was afraid. Terribly, terribly afraid.

What would people think of him after he had gone? Would they miss him? Weep for him? Remember everything he'd done? Or would he just slowly fade away into obscurity, to become a dusty, forgotten portrait hanging on the wall of someone's house?

He wasn't ready. Oh, God, I'm not _ready_. I'm running out of time, I'm running and my time's up, wise up –

_Eyes up._

A flash. He was sure he had imagined it. But then –

_Laurens?_

There he was. His brother and best friend stood in front of him, waving a magnificent banner of red, white, and blue. Thousands of soldiers, black and white, trailed after him.

Then he was gone.

_What –_

_Philip._

His son was there, grinning from ear to ear, his dark curls bouncing around his face and his eyes gleaming.

A hand landed on his shoulder. He jumped violently, and when he whirled around he was staring into the face of an angel.

No, not an angel.

_Mother?_

She smiled.

He looked to her right.

_Washington._

Desperately he grasped at his old commander's coat, but jerked back when the material sent an icy shiver up his hands and arms. _I don't want to go_, he pleaded, _oh God help me please, I don't want to go, not yet, not – yet –_

_Eliza!_

At once, the hurricane of his thoughts swept away. His poor, beautiful Eliza. He never told her, never said goodbye to her. And he was sad.

She gazed at him serenely. He had so much to say to her. He wanted to hold her, caress her face, tell her that everything was going to be okay. She would be fine without him…wouldn't she? He nodded to himself. Yes. Yes, she would. She was one of the strongest, if not _the _strongest, people he knew.

_My love, take your time_, he implored her. _I'll see you on the other side._

She nodded, gave him a brave little smile, and began to walk, away from the impending bullet, and away from him.

His mother touched his shoulder again. He leaned into her, and as he looked around all his family and friends surrounded him, embracing him, coaxing him, whispering that everything was all right. He was all right now.

In the surrealism of the moment, he was struck with a vision.

_Raise a glass to freedom…_

The pistol in his hand transformed into a bubbling flagon of beer.

He looked back and caught Philip's eye. His son nodded.

It was a cue, a sign from God. He knew what he had to do.

Glancing back at the city skyline, he sent a prayer of thanks to his country – the country that he'd helped create – for serving as a refuge for him when he needed to escape Saint Croix, for providing countless opportunities for him to rise against the circumstances of his birth, and, above all, for letting him make a difference in the lives of millions of people.

And, for the first time in his life, as he raised the pistol toward the sky, he was satisfied.

**ooOoo**

"_Wait!_"

The cry escaped my lips before I could stop it, a futile attempt to call back the bullet I'd shot. I watched, horrified, as Alexander, instead of aiming towards me as I thought he would, turned his pistol away at the last instant.

_No._

He had thrown away his shot.

The bullet struck him right between his ribs.

My gun falling with a _thud_ to the floor, I rushed toward him, ignoring Van Ness' efforts to hold me back. Alexander staggered backward, looking stricken. Blood spilled from the wound in his side, and he looked up at me, an expression of faint surprise etched on his face. Then his eyes turned soft, and he collapsed with a chilling finality to the ground.

That was the last I saw of him before a dark cloak went up in front of me, obscuring my vision.

"You'd better hide," Van Ness whispered, ushering me away from the scene.

I nodded, but where I should have felt anger I felt only a strange, faraway numbness. Part of me wanted to run back, to shout, _I'm sorry_, but the other part understood that this was my own doing, and that there was nothing left for me but to continue to walk forward.

I plodded toward the bar to get a drink. As I placed my order with the bartender, an eerie voice echoed in the back of my mind.

_Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr, sir?_

I shuddered, whether from the bitter taste of the beer or from my own conscience I didn't know.

This was the same bar Alexander and I had drunk at, all those years ago.

I bolted out of there as fast as I could. I had to forget what had just happened, forget what I had done. As I raced out onto the streets, seeking refuge from my terrible thoughts, I heard the unmistakable sound of wailing coming from a nearby house.

It was then that I remembered the seven children I had made an orphan of, and the wife whom I had just left a widow.

_Death doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints. It takes and it takes and it takes…_

_History obliterates in every picture it takes – it paints me and all my mistakes._

_When Alexander aimed at the sky, he may have been the first one to die, but I'm the one who paid for it._

_I survived, but I paid for it._

As the words floated across my blank mind, a thought occurred to me: I was a fugitive, a man who had killed his friend for – what? Spite? Arrogance? A sop to his wounded pride? I didn't know, and I would never find out. All I knew was that in killing Alexander, I had killed his country, and everything he stood for.

_Now I'm the villain in your history._

_I was too young and blind to see._

_I should have known…_

_I should have known the world was wide enough for both Hamilton and me._

_The world was wide enough for both Hamilton and me._

**ooOoo**

Fifty years later, after decades of fighting for and preserving her husband's legacy, Eliza Hamilton drew her last breath.


End file.
